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Young Writers Society


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You should check for any Miss Spellings.
While you ponder this, enjoy a poem:


Winds, as at Their Hour of Birth, The (1830)
by Alfred Lord Tennyson

The winds, as at their hour of birth,
Leaning upon the ridged sea,
Breathed low around the rolling earth
With mellow preludes, ‘We are free.’
The streams, through many a lilied row
Down-carolling to the crisped sea,
Low-tinkled with a bell-like flow
Atween the blossoms, ‘We are free.’


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— SirenCymbaline