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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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