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Sonnet Xxxix. To The Wood-Pigeon. Written In Passion-Week, 1833.

Tell me, thou mild and melancholy bird,
Whence learnedst thou that meditative voice?
For all the forest--passages rejoice,
And not a note of sorrow now is heard:
I would know more: how is it I preferred
To leave the station of my morning choice,
Where, with her sudden startle of shrill noise,
The budding thorn--bush brake the blackbird stirred?

Sweet mourner, who, in time of fullest glee,

Risest to uttering but so sad a strain,
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7/31/2021 10:48:40 AM # 1.0.0.666