THE GOLDSMITH
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This job’s the best P’'ve done’ He bent his headOver the golden vessel that he’d wrought. A bird was singing. But the craftsman’s thoughtIs a forgotten language, lost and dead. He sigh’d and stretch’d brown arms. His friend came inAnd stood beside him in the morning sun. The goldwork glitter’d. . . . ‘That's the best I've done.‘And now I’ve got a necklace to begin.’ This was at Gnossos, in the isle of Crete...A girl was selling flowers along the street. 22
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