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THE HAPPIEST TIME
An Old Man sat in his chimney seat
As the morning sunbeam crept to his feet;
And he watch'd the Spring light as it came
With wider ray on his window frame.
He look'd right on to the eastern sky,
But his breath grew long in a trembling sigh;
And those who heard it wonder'd much
What spirit-hand made him feel its touch.

For the Old Man was not one of the fair
And sensitive plants in earth's parterre;
His heart was among the scentless things
That rarely are fann'd by the honey-bee's wings:

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