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Silent daisies out of reach, Maidens of the starry grass, Gazing on me as I pass With a look too wise for speech, Teach me resignation,--teach Patience to the barren clod, As, above your happier sod, Bending to the wind's caress, You--unplucked, alas!--no less Sweetly manifest the god.
George Santayana
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Friday, January 03, 2003 |
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