From sunset to star rise

Go from me, summer friends, and tarry not: 

I am no summer friend, but wintry cold, 

A silly sheep benighted from the fold, 

A sluggard with a thorn-choked garden plot. 

Take counsel, sever from my lot your lot, autumnspiderweb

Dwell in your pleasant places, hoard your gold; 

Lest you with me should shiver on the wold, 

Athirst and hungering on a barren spot. 

For I have hedged me with a thorny hedge, 

I live alone, I look to die alone: 

Yet sometimes, when a wind sighs through the sedge, 

Ghosts of my buried years, and friends come back, 

My heart goes sighing after swallows flown 

On sometime summer’s unreturning track. 

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