RESURRECTION
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ong, long before men die I sometimes read On stoic backs as plain as graveyard stones,Which stand awry, being old and crooked bones,An epitaph of poor dead men indeed. Ridden far down with burden and with age, Deaf as the dead that all these years they’ve been,They stop the headlong highway till they leanAside in honour of my equipage. “ My old defeated traveller,” [ say,
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