112 Where bells no more affright the morn— Where scrabble never comes— Where very nimble Gentlemen Are forced to keep their rooms— Where tired Children placid sleep Thro` Centuries of noon This place is Bliss—this town is Heaven— Please, Pater, pretty soon! "Oh could we climb where Moses stood, And view the Landscape o`er" Not Father`s bells—nor Factories, Could scare us any more!SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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