Mrs Harris, I says to her, "none on us knows what we can do till we tries; and wunst, when me and Gamp kept 'ouse, I thought so too.
Mrs Harris,
17 May 2014, 05:08:51, spamthespammer, “Re: neocoon assfucker michael obama is gone bonkers...”, in us.politics, Usenet:
But yesterday his breath Awed Rome, and his least torved frown was death.
Poetry (save perhaps the very briefest, snatchiest) is an art of time. We cannot read it backwards, or to and fro, or round and round like sculpture or a picture.
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