by trees at its far ending,
as is the way in moral tales: . . .
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precious as gold & unused chances
stripped from the whine-bone, . . .
Are you shaken, are you stirred
By a whisper of love,
Spellbound to a word . . .
We are things of dry hours and the involuntary plan,
Grayed in, and gray. “Dream” makes a giddy sound, not strong
Like “rent,” “feeding a wife,” “satisfying a man.” . . .
In Abraham Lincoln’s city,
Where they remember his lawyer’s shingle,
The place where they brought him . . .
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran . . .