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On Anne Allen

The wind blew keenly from the Western sea,

And drove the dead leaves slanting from the tree--

Vanity of vanities, the Preacher saith--

Heaping them up before her Father's door

When I saw her whom I shall see no more--

We cannot bribe thee, Death.

She went abroad the falling leaves among,

She saw the merry season fade, and sung--

Vanity of vanities the Preacher saith--

Freely she wandered in the leafless wood,