Winter in Durnover Field
Rook.—Throughout the field I find no grain;The cruel frost encrusts the cornland!Starling.—Aye: patient pecking now is vainThroughout the field, I find . . .Rook.—No grain!Pigeon.—Nor will be, comrade, till it rain,Or genial thawings loose the lorn landThroughout the field.Rook.—I find no grain:The cruel frost encrusts the cornland!
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