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How many poets in the night have sung sweet-nestled world on slender means all strung like raiment for a queen, adorning the arm of virtue with the joy of morning; All lace adorned and vested for the feast when first the light of day breaks on the east, and youth first testing in the frost-nipped morn a song of Ruth amid the alien corn. Such revelry for fancy is not wanting such quiet for the soul has not been spare such tutelage for heart and soul were spent with prodigality for man's content; and where the best of heart and mind and soul conjoined with God and felt the drummers roll sweet thunder for the sweetness that is life falls now the shadow of the high-court's knife! |