if
there are ways to measure all the tale
in
years of story how the shapes are made
without
an edge of humour being frayed
by
passing breeze or rough attacking gale
you'd
say that we must in this wise assail
the
aged creators of the human braid
for
all the crimes of their despairing trade
before
we mark their effort with a fail
no
truths have been discovered by our kind
without
an effort to disturb the soil
uproot
the weeds and plant a better seed
so
that the newer products of keen mind
emergent
in the end from bitter toil
can match the urge exactly to the deed
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