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The Cruel World

From the Rock Island Argus, May 15, 1914.

Before him flowery pastures spread,
    He hears a glad brook flow along,
And from a branch above his head
    There falls a sweet June shower song.

There is mild fragrance in the breeze
    That blows from orchards far away;
The musing cows beneath the trees
    Are being peaceful while they may.

His limbs are straight and young and strong,
    He gazes forth from undimmed eyes,
But, thinking that the world’s gone wrong,
    He sees a far-off cloud and sighs.

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