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When poetry, lovely, speaks,
No person dares to sigh,
Prose, if it whispers or shrieks,
Will not talk, will not even try.
When poetry does the talking
In a poem by Shelley or Keats,
No mortal breathes a breath,
Not even the lamb bleats.
From wooded hill or sky
Issues forth no sound,
Respect for the poem so great,
As when Jupiter once came down.
Image may be NSFW.
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Image may be NSFW.Clik here to view.
