“When in your neighborhood you hear a neigh,”

&
When in your neighborhood you hear a neigh,
It means that there's a horse not far away.
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Huzza! Hodgson, we are going,
Our embargo's off at last;
Favourable breezes blowing
Bend the canvass o'er the mast.
From aloft the signal's streaming,
Hark! the farewell gun is fir'd;
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Tell us that our time's expir'd.
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Benediction by Stanley Kunitz
Stanley Kunitz
God banish from your house
The fly, the roach, the mouse

That riots in the walls
Until the plaster falls;

Admonish from your door
The hypocrite and liar;

No shy, soft, tigrish fear
Permit upon your stair,
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To Rosa by Abraham Lincoln
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You are young, and I am older;
You are hopeful, I am not—
Enjoy life, ere it grow colder—
Pluck the roses ere they rot.

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Is this writing mine
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Sonnet 84: While one sere leaf, that parting Autumn yields by Anna Seward
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While one sere leaf, that parting Autumn yields,
Trembles upon the thin, and naked spray,
November, dragging on this sunless day,
Lours, cold and sullen, on the watery fields;
And Nature to the waste dominion yields,
Stripped her last robes, with gold and purple gay —
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from d e l e t e, Part 12 by Richard O. Moore
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Welcome to your day of sanity! Come in and close the door it will likely lock behind you and you will be home alone waste disposal will take care of your needs : at long last undisturbed phenomena without the heavy metal background of the street will be yours for observation and response : do you have visions? do you think? Your mouth do you open it for more than medication? I should know I know that I should know : we’ve watched centuries erode the fortress drain the moat the poet’s clumsy beast has reached its home and prey we wither 
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To the Young Wife by Charlotte Anna Perkins Gilman
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Are you content, you pretty three-years’ wife?
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In a lightning bolt
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Oh! Shepherd John is good and kind,
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(FROM THE NORSE TONGUE) Now the storm begins to lower,
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I don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz,
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When you get in on a try you never learn it back
umpteen times the tenth part of a featured world
in black and in back it’s roses and fostered nail
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from The Triumph of Love by Geoffrey Hill
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I

Sun-blazed, over Romsley, a livid rain-scarp.


XIII

Whose lives are hidden in God? Whose?
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rotted down with leafmould, accepted
as civic concrete, reinforceable
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