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Edgar Guest - The Book Of MemoryEdgar Guest - The Book Of Memory
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Turn me loose and let me be Young once more and fancy free; Let me wander where I will, Down the lane and up the hill, Trudging barefoot in the dust In an age that knows no "must," And no voice insistently Speaks of duty unto me; Let me tread the happy ways Of those by-gone yesterdays. Fame had never whispered then, Making slaves of eager men; Greed had never called me down To the gray walls of the town, Offering frankincense and myrrh If I`d be its prisoner; I was free to come and go Where the cherry blossoms blow, Free to wander where I would, Finding life supremely good. But I turned, as all must do, From the happiness I knew To the land of care and strife, Seeking for a fuller life; Heard the lure of fame and sought That renown so dearly bought; Listened to the voice of greed Saying: "These the things you need," Now the gray town holds me fast, Prisoner to the very last. Age has stamped me as its own; Youth to younger hearts has flown; Still the cherry blossoms blow In the land loused to know; Still the fragrant clover spills Perfume over dales and hills, But I`m not allowed to stray Where the young are free to play; All the years will grant to me Is the book of memory.
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