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Come near, O Sun, O South wind, blow!
And be the Winter's captives freed.
Where are the Springs of long ago?

 

Drive underground the lingering snow,
And forth the green sward legions lead;
Come near, O Sun, O South wind, blow!

 

Are these the skies we used to know,
The budding bood, the fresh blown mead?
Where are the Springs of long ago?

 

The breathing furrow now we sow,
And patient wait the patient seed;
Come near, O Sun, O South wind, blow!

 

The grain of vanished years will grow,
But not thy vanished years, indeed!
Where are the Springs of long ago?

 

With sodden leafage lying low,
They for remembrance faintly plead.
Come near, O Sun, O South wind, blow!
Where are the Springs of long ago?