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 Robert Bloomfield once said...

When now, unsparing as the scourge of war, Blasts follow blasts and groves dismantled roar; Around their home the storm-pinched cattle lows, No nourishment in frozen pasture grows; Yet frozen pastures every morn resound With fair abundance thund'ring to the ground.

In Winter Quotes, by Robert Bloomfield , Source: The Farmer's Boy--Winter (st. 2)

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