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Pure as the silver wreath of snow That lies on yonder wintry hill, Are all the thoughts that peaceful flow, And with pure joy my bosom fill. Soft as the sweet spring’s morning breath, Or summer’s zephyr, forth they roam; Until my bosom grows more kind, And dreams of thee and all at home. https://www.ecbasis.org/blog/2017/07/pure-as-the-silver-wreath-of-snow-that-lies-on-yonder-wintry-hill-are-all-the-thoughts-that-peaceful-flow-and-with-pure-joy-my-bosom-fill-soft-as-the-sweet-springs-mor/
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