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[Page 155]

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the falling leaves. They fall as nothing else on earth falls except the imitation leaves on the pantomime stage. Many have fallen into the drifting water and are moving down towards the sea in yellow fleets and golden armadas.
Autumn is lavish with her gold She scatters it over the tow-path, over the grass; Everywhere, and casts with it rust and crimson And with it all is the sweet scent of withering glory, unlike any other perfume in nature

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