I can't help it, when I start I helplessly clutter with more and more. 

Sometimes, returning down his breezy miles, 
A snatch of wayward April he will bring,
Piping the daffodilly that beguiles 
Foolhardy lovers in the surge of spring. 
And then once more by lanes and field-path stiles 
Up the green world he wanders like a king. "
A Wanderer - Siegfried Sassoon
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