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Epitaph On A Lap-Dog

IN wood and wild, ye warbling throng,
Your heavy loss deplore;
Now, half extinct your powers of song,
Sweet Echo is no more.


Ye jarring, screeching things around,
Scream your discordant joys;
Now, half your din of tuneless sound
With Echo silent lies.

Friday, November 14, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: epitaph
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