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THE DAY is cold, and dark, and dreary; | |
It rains, and the wind is never weary; | |
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall, | |
But at every gust the dead leaves fall, | |
And the day is dark and dreary. | |
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My life is cold, and dark, and dreary; | |
It rains, and the wind is never weary; | |
My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past, | |
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast, | |
And the days are dark and dreary. | |
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Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; | |
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining; | |
Thy fate is the common fate of all, | |
Into each life some rain must fall, | |
Some days must be dark and dreary.
-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | |
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