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Paul Laurence Dunbar - On The Death Of W. C.Paul Laurence Dunbar - On The Death Of W. C.
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Thou arrant robber, Death!   Couldst thou not find   Some lesser one than he   To rob of breath,--   Some poorer mind   Thy prey to be?   His mind was like the sky,--     As pure and free;   His heart was broad and open     As the sea.   His soul shone purely through his face,   And Love made him her dwelling place.   Not less the scholar than the friend,     Not less a friend than man;   The manly life did shorter end     Because so broad it ran.   Weep not for him, unhappy Muse!   His merits found a grander use   Some other-where. God wisely sees   The place that needs his qualities.   Weep not for him, for when Death lowers   O`er youth`s ambrosia-scented bowers   He only plucks the choicest flowers.
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