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Show An Afterthought. Why is it that our life seems full of wrong? That even poets, who are human birds. Set saddest music to the saddest words, And mingle sighs and tears in all their song? For Chaucer's marguerites still bloom along Our rustic fences, herdsmen and their herds Know Shakespeare's cookoo-cups, and the new curds Are hard and white, and violet-scent Is strons: 'Tis not because the gods are silent all, For in Sienna the Brigata held Their revels, and joy's golden badges wore So sayeth sweet Folgore carnival Reigned blithe and jocund; Giant Thought has felled The gay Page Laughter; there is mirth no more. Maurice Francis Egan. ' |