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I sit here a singin', all perched in my tree, the words are not there, but the lyrics are free, a sweet morning song, to the pleasure of all, a cool and bright morning, New England in fall. The leaves are all parting, the days they grow short, the colors of Autumn; before Winter's retort, the splendor is there, for all to come see, won't you visit New England, and spend Autumn with me? |
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