The Tree's early leaf buds were bursting their brown;
“Shall I take them away?” said the Frost, sweeping down.
“No, leave them alone
Till the blossoms have grown,” ...
Where river and ocean meet in a great tempestuous
frown,
Beyond the bar, where on the dunes the white-
capped rollers break;
Above, one windmill stands forlorn on the arid,
grassy down:
I will set my sail on a stormy day and cross the
bar and seek
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