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HOLIDAYS.
From fall to spring the russet acorn,
Fruit beloved of maid and boy,
Lent itself beneath the forest,
To be the children's toy.
Pluck it now! In vain,—thou canst not;
Its root has pierced yon shady mound;
Toy no longer—it has duties;
It is anchored in the ground.
Year by year the rose-lipped maiden,
Playfellow of young and old,
Was frolic sunshine, dear to all men,
More dear to one than mines of gold.
