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ALL Nature seems at work. Slugs leave their lair— 
The bees are stirring—birds are on the wing— 
And WINTER, slumbering in the open air, 
Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring! 
And I, the while, the sole unbusy thing, 
Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing. 

- Coleridge
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