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A bird sings the selfsame song, With never a fault in its flow, That we listened to here those long Long years ago.
A pleasing marvel is how A strain of such rapturous rote Should have gone on thus till now unchanged in a note!
--But its not the selfsame bird.-- No: perished to dust is he.... As also are those who heard That song with me.
Thomas Hardy
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Friday, January 03, 2003 |
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