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The poet who didn't knowit...

Oh that there should be such a bless'd morn
That should I wake to find my meek profession adorned
For these mere hours honored, few in the fullness of a life obscured
By the ignorance of the throng of men, their eyes held fast by a sick, flickering light a-cursed
So that we be the purveyors of this unwieldy shambling
Our gracious flock of words reduced to a mere rambling



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  Kimber Kable  


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