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Many there are in this world below
Who share with a borrowed light
And they – whatever you wish to know
They will deny you right
They talk so proudly – & look so big
As if they wore a Chancellors wig.
And they die fade melt away like a drop flake of snow
And leave no trace behind:
If you would trace their history now –
Not a fragment will you find
Wisdom is silent – folly alone
Assumes high peremptory tone.
When in the breeze the green leaves dance
Sparkling on the hill –
Tis but idle impertinence
The fruit is calm & still
It shrouds itself from the wanderers view eye
And ripens it smile ripens in its serenity.
Identifier: | JB/110/233/002 "JB/" can not be assigned to a declared number type with value 110.
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110 |
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233 |
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002 |
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collectanea |
4 |
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recto |
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sir john bowring |
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36223 |
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