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Robert W Service - WordsRobert W Service - Words
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If on isle of the sea          I have to tarry, With one book, let it be          A Dictionary. For though I love life`s scene,          It seems absurd, My greatest joy has been          The printed word. Though painter with delight          May colours blend, They are but in his sight          Means to an end. Yet while I harmonise          Or pattern them, A precious word I prize          Like to a gem. A fiddler lures fine tone          From gut and wood; A sculptor from stark stone          Shapes godlihood. But let me just caress,          Like silver birds, For their own loveliness—          Bewitching words.
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