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Brave Thackeray has trolled of days when he was twenty-one,
And bounded up five flights of stairs, a gallant garreteer;
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Hurrah! I'm off to Finistere, to Finistere, to Finistere;
My satchel's swinging on my back, my staff is in my hand;
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I have some friends, some worthy friends,
And worthy friends are rare:
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The Spirit of the Unborn Babe peered through the window-pane,
Peered through the window-pane that glowed like beacon in the night;
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If you had a friend strong, simple, true,
Who knew your faults and who understood;
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A wild and woeful race he ran
Of lust and sin by land and sea;
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Before I drink myself to death,
God, let me finish up my Book!
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"How good God is to me," he said;
"For have I not a mansion tall,
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Day after day behold me plying
My pen within an office drear;
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Oh, have you forgotten those afternoons
With riot of roses and amber skies,
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It's slim and trim and bound in blue;
Its leaves are crisp and edged with gold;
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I sought the trails of South and North,
I wandered East and West;
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Oh, it is good to drink and sup,
And then beside the kindly fire
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"Gather around me, children dear;
The wind is high and the night is cold;
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He dreamed away his hours in school;
He sat with such an absent air,
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"Sow your wild oats in your youth," so we're always told;
But I say with deeper sooth: "Sow them when you're old."
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Blind Peter Piper used to play
All up and down the city;
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I sought Him on the purple seas,
I sought Him on the peaks aflame;
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O Teddy Bear! with your head awry
And your comical twisted smile,
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(He speaks.)
Walking, walking, oh, the joy of walking!
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As I sat by my baby's bed
That's open to the sky,
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I wish that I could understand
The moving marvel of my Hand;
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