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We spend our years as a tale that is told.
For a living dog is better than a dead lion,
All flesh is grass.
Doubt thou the stars are tire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love.
The Child is father of the Man.
A noticeable man, with large gray eyes.
That best portion of a good man's life, His little, nameless, unremembered acts Of kindness and of love.