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Poem by Albert Laighton A Passing Thought THE violets are dead, And faded is the rose; The autumn leaves are shed; High drift the winter snows, And no flower blows. Oh, why complain, sad soul? Life may be verdure-crowned, Howe'er the seasons roll; And Love's sweet flower be found The whole year round. Albert Laighton Albert Laighton's other poems: ![]() 1196 Views |
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