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The wind is on
The softer edge of wildness
There's music in the air
The rumble of the woods
Sighing soft and swaying
A whistle in the wires by the road
There's a howling at the summit
Where a strong gale blows
through the gappy iron mast
The geese are calling loud
Moving quickly with the breeze
From the black lake
To the meadow
Where the crows are laughing softly
At the sighing of the trees

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