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William Butler Yeats - Church And StateWilliam Butler Yeats - Church And State
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HERE is fresh matter, poet, Matter for old age meet; Might of the Church and the State, Their mobs put under their feet. O but heart`s wine shall run pure, Mind`s bread grow sweet. That were a cowardly song, Wander in dreams no more; What if the Church and the State Are the mob that howls at the door! Wine shall run thick to the end, Bread taste sour.
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