Jonathan Swift

(30 November 1667 – 19 October 1745 / Dublin)

On A Circle - Poem by Jonathan Swift

I'm up and down, and round about,
Yet all the world can't find me out;
Though hundreds have employ'd their leisure,
They never yet could find my measure.
I'm found almost in every garden,
Nay, in the compass of a farthing.
There's neither chariot, coach, nor mill,
Can move an inch except I will.


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Poem Submitted: Monday, April 12, 2010



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