Last night I rode with Touchstone on a bus
From Ludgate Hill to World's End. It was he!
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The great roads are all grown over
That seemed so firm and white.
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Black-veiled, black-gowned, she rides in bus and train,
With eyes that fill too listlessly for tears.
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The Temple Bell was out of tune,
That once out-melodied sun and moon.
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On this high altar, fringed with ferns
That darken against the sky,
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Wonder in happy eyes
Fades, fades away:
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"Our cavalry have rescued Nazareth from the enemy whose supermen
described Christianity as a creed for slaves."
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The man who discovered the use of a chair,
_Odds--bobs--
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_Why do we make our music?_
Oh, blind dark strings reply:
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You that have gathered together the sons of all races,
And welded them into one,
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Give me the pulse of the tide again
And the slow lapse of the leaves,
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O Mystery of life,
That, after all our strife,
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Give me the sunlight and the sea
And who shall take my heaven from me?
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When hawthorn buds are creaming white,
And the red foolscap all stuck with may,
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Green wing and ruby throat,
What shining spell, what exquisite sorcery,
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"_And that a reply be received before midnight._"
_British Ultimatum_.
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Before those golden altar-lights we stood,
Each one of us remembering his own dead.
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"_There are no ghosts in America._"
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_The old gentleman, tapping his amber snuff-box
(A heart-shaped snuff-box with a golden clasp)
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The sunset lingered in the pale green West:
In rosy wastes the low soft evening star
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How few are they that voyage through the night
On that eternal quest,
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(Written after entering New York Harbor at Daybreak)
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"You were weeping in the night," said the Emperor,
"Weeping in your sleep, I am told."
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(_An epistle from a narrow-minded old gentleman to a young artist of
superior intellect and intense realism._)
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There is one road, one only, to the Light:
A narrow way, but Freedom walks therein;
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Its quiet graves were made for peace till Gabriel blows his horn.
Those wise old elms could hear no cry
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Once, on the far blue hills,
Alone with the pine and the cloud, in those high still places;
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(Written after hearing a line of Keats repeated by a passing stranger
under the palms of Southern California.)
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"I want to be new," said the duckling.
"O, ho!" said the wise old owl,
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As I was walking
Alone by the sea,
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