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Charles Lamb - Parental Recollection
Work rating: Low

A child`s a plaything for an hour;
  Its pretty tricks we try
For that or for a longer space;
  Then tire, and lay it by.


But I knew one that to itself
  All seasons could control;
That would have mocked the sense of pain
  Out of a grievëd soul.


Thou straggler into loving arms,
  Young climber up of knees,
When I forget thy thousand ways,
  Then life and all shall cease.
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