The sad historian of the pensive plain.
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021} Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden flower grows wild, [Illustration: 0042] There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose,
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— William Blake
Does the Eagle know what is in the pit?
Or wilt thou go ask the Mole:
Can Wisdom be put in a silver rod?
Or Love in a golden bowl?
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