Thou wast not born for death, immortal bird - the first two nightingales of
spring have just joined the frogs' nocturnal concert, piping and trilling in
descant, down near the brook at the bottom of the village.
But I was already a sod before I heard their high requiem.
mj
And the globe keeps rolling towards a pocket without a bottom although on
the way the green cloth field is smooth. - Louis MacNeice
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