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Edgar Lee Masters - On a Bust
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A giant as we hoped, in truth, a dwarf; 
A barrel of slop that shines on Lethe`s wharf`, 
Which at first seemed a vessel with sweet wine 
For thirsty lips. So down the swift decline 
You went through sloven spirit, craven heart 
And cynic indolence. And here the art 
Of molding clay has caught you for the nonce 
And made your shame our shame— Your head in bronze!
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