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Theoretikos

Rating: 2.8
THIS mighty empire hath but feet of clay:
Of all its ancient chivalry and might
Our little island is forsaken quite:
Some enemy hath stolen its crown of bay,
And from its hills that voice hath passed away
Which spake of Freedom: O come out of it,
Come out of it, my Soul, thou art not fit
For this vile traffic-house, where day by day
Wisdom and reverence are sold at mart,
And the rude people rage with ignorant cries
Against an heritage of centuries.
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COMMENTS
MinMinMyat 08 March 2018
I am very intersted in liteature and reading poems.So l want to be a member of this page.
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Min Min Myat 08 March 2018
minminyat@006900
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