  In the golden noon-shine, Or in the pink of dawn; In the silver moonshine, Or when the moon is gone; Open eyes, or drowsy lids, ’Wake or ’most asleep, I can hear the katydids,— “Cheep! Cheep! Cheep!” Only in the winter-time Do they ever stop, In the chip-and-splinter-time, When the backlogs pop,— Then it is, the kettle-lids, While the sparkles leap, Lisp like the katydids,— |
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