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Description: | Original woodcut created for the letterpress print of McCormick's Harvester and Self Binder. It has three sections and is connected using wood splines. An ... |
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Description: | Electrotype created for the letterpress print of McCormick's Harvester and Self Binder. A woodcut was created first, the electrotype next, then the letterp... |
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Description: | She didn't quite make clear what we were going to find when we got here on the outer edge of worry It wasn't Chinamen and it wasn't wild rice A ha... |
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Description: | The Little Bluebirds — has anyone expressed it better than Judy Garland singing . . . why, oh why, can't I |
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Description: | The arrangements Somebody takes care of it: planning the details, announcements, transportation, setting the tone, fitting all the likel... |
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Description: | 200 years this tree grew here and so did I We were raised here and brought up young ones |
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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: | I'll show you all the imported graces and you shall see New Fontainebleau |
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Description: | Sunday was the day when, to a stranger, almost nothing happened. But to us it was the best day of all |
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Description: | Around the corner: the geography of childhood |
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Description: | Patience we learned and requiem to rest the tense who die For we forgot the brazen earth in courtship of the sky |
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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: | The log who was made King of Logs is here entombed eight round, ten long For his design, the strengthened forest capriciously outgrew them all... |
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Description: | New land cut out by real imaginary lines based in older spirit courses lay and bedrock, flight of birds and pointed feet |
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Description: | White horses, white fences that money can't buy |
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Description: | The boss says — The center is — Good workmen then served two masters One a man, the other a craft A fine-edged tool biting life-long in... |
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Description: | The earth is never still, but speaks her lovers lying twined among the roots of grasses, lying long stretched out from hill to hill There wher... |
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Description: | In the soft underside of war The home point is to be home again with honor without quite understanding why |
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Description: | In the afternoon, nothing Overnight, unseen In the morning, a wooden horse with strangers sending telegrams for more |
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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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