There’s nothing cooler falls—
Than Life’s sweet Calculations—
The mixing Bells and Palls—
Make Lacerating Tune—
To Ears the Dying Side—
‘Tis Coronal—and Funeral—
Saluting—in the Road—
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You squander on the Dead,And They were Men and Women—now,Around Your Fireside—Instead of Passive Creatures,Denied the CherishingTill They—the Cherishing deny—With Death’s Ethereal Scron—
Whose Pink career may have a close
To imitate these Neighbors fleetIn awe and innocence, were meet.
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Because there isn’t Room—Besides—it isn’t even—it slantsAnd People come—And put a Flower on it—And hang their faces so—We’re fearing that their Hearts will drop—And crush our pretty play—And so we move as farAs Enemies—away—Just looking round to see how farIt is—Occasionally—
The Beggar at the Door for Fame
But Bread is that Diviner thingDisclosed to be denied
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Ah! Indeed!May this ‘dishonor’ be?If I were half so fine myselfI’d notice nobody!‘Sown in corruption’!Not so fast!Apostle is askew!Corinthians 1. 15. narratesA Circumstance or two!
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But early, yet, for God—Creation—impotent to help—But Prayer—remained—Our Side—How excellent the Heaven—When Earth—cannot be had—How hospitable—then—the faceOf our Old Neighbor—God—