PICTURE and book remain,An acre of green grassFor air and exercise,Now strength of body goes;Midnight, an old houseWhere nothing stirs but a mouse.My temptation is quiet.Here at life’s endNeither loose
Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spendUpon thy self thy beauty’s legacy?Nature’s bequest gives nothing, but doth lend,And being frank she lends to those are free:Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou
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