[No 56 FURZE BLOOM]
H.F.S.
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There's not a cloud a sailing by,
That does not hold a shower;
There's not a furze-bush on the moor,
That doth not put forth flower.
About the roots we need not delve,
The branches need not prune,
The yellow furze will ever flower,
And ever love's in tune!
When the furze is out of flower,
Then love is out of tune.
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