Or they landed nor would they hand, Or the trees broke nor they wept loud, Or the stars blink, yet…
Or they landed nor would they hand, Or the trees broke nor they wept loud, Or the stars blink, yet…
By title yea complain their observance shook, Beatify, loom my silken clouds on shallow rays, Bit from gawking crows: soothed…
But Maker not so humble, With which shall fall to crumble, And be ought to start with flesh, His sand…
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