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I do not mean that Josephine Peabody's poems resemble glad Polyanna, but I was driven to these divagations by the number of cheery lyrics that she has felt it necessary to write. Now I find it almost as depressing to be told that there is hope as to be told that there isn't. I met Poor Sorrow on the way As I came down the years; I gave him everything I had And looked at him through tears.
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