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There are who make a mock of grief – & wear
Their cares as lightly as their garb – who see
With unwet eye-lids the pale ravager
Mow down his harvests of mortality –
I would not not such a senseless normal being be
For all that this or any other sphere
Could offer to my will – I'd rather bear
A ten-fold burthen of life's misery.
For they who know not sorrow know not joy
There is no tear that sparkles in the eye
Which does not glisten brightly in the heart:
Thy heart is human – 'tis not stone, – nor sail
'Twas given the lightest thrill of joy to feel
Or vibrate to the touch of sorrow's smart
Identifier: | JB/110/203/002 "JB/" can not be assigned to a declared number type with value 110.
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110 |
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203 |
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002 |
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collectanea |
2 |
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recto |
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sir john bowring |
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36193 |
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