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Fiona Ye morning-glories, ring in the gale your bells, And with dew water the walk’s dust for the burden-bearing ants: Ye swinging spears of the larkspur, open your wells of gold And pay your honey-tax t |
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H00t Owl Sargon is dust, Semiramis a clod! In crypts profaned the moon at midnight peers The owl upon the Sphinx hoots in her ears, And scant and sear the desert grasses nod Where once the armies of Assyri |
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