They flee from me, dearest wishes,
Undesires that strive to become friendly foes,
Poor mind, of thy sores to deepen, they rush,
For Disappointment opens my door in sad smiles, ...
Browning, old fellow,
Your leaves grow yellow,
Beginning to mellow
As seasons pass.
Your cover is wrinkled,
And stained and sprinkled,
And warped and crinkled
From sleep on the grass.
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