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upon whose boughs were wicker cages hung,
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soft, discontented eyes!
0
she still must keep the locket to allay
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and the rude people rage with ignorant cries
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skirting the stream.
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"o lord, that didst smother mankind in thy flood,
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the silence, and the rain.
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is this a time to be cloudy and sad,
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blood-dipped arrows, which savages make
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i think i'll just call up my wife and tell her
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the moon and the stars were anxious
0
they shaped our future; we but carve their names.
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nor the president in his presidency, nor the rich in his great house.
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in our embraces we again enfold her,
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robe us once more in heaven-aspiring creeds
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in the twilight of age all things seem strange and phantasmal,
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back to its mansion call the fleeting breath?
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the very gods arising mid their carven images:
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ah! still, methinks, i hear them calling;
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a wild and stormy sea;
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"sir, ye shall find him, if ye follow up
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tis the djinns' wild streaming swarm
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how many times we must have met
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dark with more clouds than tempests are,
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then the smile from her bright eyes faded and a flush came over her cheek
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lowly and soft she said it; but spake out louder now:
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the sower scatters broad his seed,
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and thus each tint or shade which falls,
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the dust of half a century lies
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above the myriad roofs and spires rise;
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and they whispered to each other:
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then he stripped the shirt of wampum
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at least if so we can, and by the head
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here comes the cripple jane!" and by a fountain's side
0
to me that time did not appeire:
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so neighbour'd to him, and yet so unseen
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the wondering rabbi sought the temple's gate.
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are angel faces, silent and serene,
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ef zeke had be'n the bigges' man
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and when i bade the dream
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and tip with feathers, orange and green,
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or at the church, she ever bore herself
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how nature to the soul is moored,
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"rubadub! rubadub! wake and take the road again,
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i do not keer a jot;
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swifter was the hunter's rowing,
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let the scared dreamer wake to see
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(like essence-peddlers) thet'll make folks long to be without 'em,
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as if we guessed what hers have been,
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which goaded him in his distress
0
o so many, many, many
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lord, remember me!"
2
far from the woods where, when the sun has set,
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abloom by sacred streams
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nathless, as hath been often tried,
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i feel the road unroll,
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and not be nearer therefore to the moon,
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forelaid and taken, while he strove in vain
0
and country eyes, and quiet faces --
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some come ridin' in top-buggies wid de w'eels all painted red,
2
when blighting was nearest.
0
i can see how you might. but i don't know!
2
the orchestra had cheered till they were hoarse,
3
pillars by madness multiplied;
0
"now the place where the accident occurred----"
2
a poet in his youth, and the cuckoo-bird
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no rest that throbbing slave may ask,
0
o'er time's delusive tide.
0
“i’m going to put you on the farm next to it.”
2
no word for a while spake regin; but he hung his head adown
0
"he! patron!
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three lives, three strides, three foot-prints in the sand;
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till they have told their fill, could scarce express
2
the morning and the evening made his day.
2
"stella, see that grasshopper
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of blooming myrtle and faint lemon-flowers,
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let us do our work as well,
2
we hear our mother call from deeps of time,
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of brynhilda's love and the wrath of gudrun.
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who digs last year's potato hill?--
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those hours the ancient timepiece told,--
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would split, for size of me.
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in just the dress his century wore;
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his song, though very sweet, was low and faint,
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then to tell.
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my winter sports begin.
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envy and calumny and hate and pain,
0
the play is done,--the curtain drops,
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and murmured a strange and solemn air;
0
the cloud is gone that wove the sandstone,
2
i see little and large sea-dots, some inhabited, some uninhabited;
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time never did assuage;
2
that saw the cross without the bear.
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the deer invites no longer
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taught by the sorrows that his age had known
0
like slippers after shoes.--
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and willing grow old
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to paris, and you make no sign at all.
2
from the pulpit read the preacher, "goodman garvin and his wife
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even hearts estranged would turn once more to me,
3