ALL things can tempt me from this craft of verse: One time it was a woman`s face, or worse — The seeming needs of my fool-driven land; Now nothing but comes readier to the hand Than this accustomed toil. When I was young, I had not given a penny for a song Did not the poet Sing it with such airs That one believed he had a sword upstairs; Yet would be now, could I but have my wish, Colder and dumber and deafer than a fish.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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