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“I love the rain.
I want the feeling of it on my face.”
” What do you fear my lady? “
To stay behind bars
Until use and old age accept them
And all chance of valor has gone
Beyond recall or desire.”
Out of the bosom of the Air,
Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the woodlands brown and bare,
Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
Descends the snow.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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