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1 Works of John Clare

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The sinking sun is taking leave, And sweetly gilds the edge of Eve, While huddling clouds of purple dye Gloomy hang the western sky. Crows crowd croaking over head, Hastening to the woods to bed. Cooing sits the lonely dove, Calling home her absent love. With “Kirchup! Kirchup!” mong the wheats Partridge distant partridge greets; […]