Loveliest of trees the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.
Now of my three score years and ten,
twenty will not come again.
And take from seventy years a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.
And since to look at things in bloom,
Fifty Springs is little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.
A. E. Housman
Cold Deaths in New York Climb to 18 as Frigid Winds Linger
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A person was found dead in the Bronx on Saturday morning, the police said.
An 81-year-old man was also found dead on a rooftop, though it was unclear
wheth...

Thanks for sharing this beautiful poem.
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