Press’d by the Moon, mute arbitress of tides, While the loud equinox its pow’r combines, The sea no more its swelling surge confines, But o’er the shrinking land sublimely rides. –Charlotte Smith (1749–1806) | | If you enjoy the Almanac Companion... | | | | | THE OLD FARMER SELECTED THESE PRODUCTS FOR YOU | | | | | | Did a friend forward you this briefing? You can sign up here. If you enjoy this newsletter, consider picking up a copy of The Old Farmer's Almanac. Your support makes this all possible! | | | | You received this email because you signed for updates from The Old Farmer's Almanac. If you do not wish to receive our regular e-mail newsletter in the future, please click here to manage preferences. *Please do not reply to this e-mail* © Yankee Publishing Inc. An Employee-Owned Company 1121 Main Street | P.O. Box 520 | Dublin, NH 03444 Contact Us View web version | | | | |
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