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Description: | I had to know the point to which the path was tracked and when the definition would cease to be my own |
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Description: | If everything stopped dead — watches, tickers, hands — on every island something new would bloom and another age begin |
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Description: | The measure of solitude fades in the ripples and there are more prizes than there are fish |
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Description: | The style of reachings, temporal or spiritual, for transformation of the earth. The chapel of Rockford Female Seminary, later Rockford College, 1889-1892... |
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Description: | I'll show you all the imported graces and you shall see New Fontainebleau |
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Description: | Well-scrubbed proprieties, in no danger except the possible over-minding of their own manners or being out-voted by Activists |
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Description: | To some who want to leave it would be dull But to us who want to stay the moment is surprising: never lax only turning out of nowhere lastin... |
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Description: | The fife and drum are not so innocent the vulture's eye is on the dance |
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Description: | First-rate minds to write books, guide the young and lead the nation but the target runs close to the ground |
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Description: | Rockford, Ill. J.H. Denison Editorial room of the Milwaukee Journal Probably the Black River at Black River Falls Children taug... |
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Description: | Our side of the fence is all dovetail — where they winked and upset the story-book, that's over on your side |
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Description: | In the letter was the hope that you were well For shorter hours A newer coat And Grace when there was any Grace to tell |
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Description: | There used to be a quiet. It wasn't deafness, it was roses But they don't make it any more They think it was a toy |
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Description: | Everybody was wonderful Stars kept rising, pink and gold Trailing threads of breathless music barely out of reach Hand to hand around the n... |
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Description: | We were promised, we were told that candy came in stripes and boxes But some was stacked, like lost rewards, the chocolate-coated paradoxes |
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Description: | Bring back somehow the big Hello Prolong the noisiest day The clapping hands are stilled too soon And much too far away |
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Description: | A word without momentum that settled on a note of calm caught wind and spun its venom into froth, to cool a Sunday afternoon in June |
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Description: | Something less than the half of everything is the better, the partner, the woman waiting What counselor, over his shoulder, can count the ways |
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Description: | The bargain was that the driven wedge would never be withdrawn |
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Description: | Put aside anything so futile All that fermented time spent and blackened, much obscured, is now restored with cheese and wine |
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