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The Changing Picture

From the Evening Star, June 21, 1914. By Philander Johnson.

How softly fall the memory lights
    On pictures of the past
As still and sultry grow the nights
    That shade the glare at last.
When like a furnace breath so hot
    The breezes ebb and flow,
You think about the cherished spot
    Where once you shoveled snow.

The eager tingle of the blast
    No more seems harsh and rude.
That sky with clouds all overcast
    Seems gentle and subdued.
Oh, how we wailed the bitter lot
    That faced us months ago,
And now how lovely seems the spot
    Where once we shoveled snow.

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