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Oh, every fall the chestnut men Are out by park and street, Frosty mornings, sunny noons, And nights of stars or sleet. Little stands at every curb, Charcoal fires that glow, And like a spell that sharp, strange smell Wherever feet may go. Smoky bitterness of leaves Burning who knows where? Spicy scent of frost-nipped fruit Tingling on the air. Town-dull folk might never guess, Or country hearts recall, If chestnut men forgot to come To cities in the fall. |