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Samuel Taylor Coleridge, “Work Without Hope”
All Nature seems at work – slugs leave their lair,The bees are stirring, birds are on the wing,And Winter slumbering in the open air,Wears on his smiling face a dream of spring!And I, the while, the sole unbusy thing,Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.Yet well I ken the banks where amaranths blow,Have… →