THE APOLOGY
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hink me not unkind and rudeThat I walk alone in grove and glen;I go to the god of the woodTo fetch his word to men. Tax not my sloth that IFold my arms beside the brook;Each cloud that floated in the skyWrites a letter in my book. Chide me not, laborious band,For the idle flowers I brought;Every aster in my handGoes home loaded with a thought. There was never mysteryBut 'tis figured in the flowers;Was never secret historyBut birds tell it in the bowers. One harvest from thy fieldHomeward brought the oxen strong;A second crop thine acres yield,Which I gather in a song.
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