What is poetry? Is it a mosaic Of coloured stones which curiously are wrought Into a pattern? Rather glass that`s taught By patient labor any hue to take And glowing with a sumptuous splendor, make Beauty a thing of awe; where sunbeams caught, Transmuted fall in sheafs of rainbows fraught With storied meaning for religion`s sake.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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