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Give me health and a day, and I will make the pomp of emperors ridiculous.
How rich am I to whom the Orient sends
Who by their every jocund token say : “ Hence from thy spirit put distrust
away, This bountihood thy slackened fortune mends ! We've olives from the soft gray trees of Peace, And damask apples heaped for thee in sport By the blithe Hours of young Aurora's court, And myrrh thy heart in worship to release ; Such freight is thine for Power's and Joy's increase ; Oh, be no longer doubtful, — Day’s in port!”
AFTER READING ARNOLD'S “ SOHRAB AND
Who reads this measure flowing strong and deep,