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Ella Wheeler Wilcox - A Picture
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I strolled last eve across the lonely down;

One solitary picture struck my eye:

A distant ploughboy stood against the sky—

How far he seemed above the noisy town!

Upon the bosom of a cloud the sod

Laid its bruised cheek as he moved slowly by,

And, watching him, I asked myself if I

In very truth stood half as near to God.
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