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Great poetry is like an iceberg. More is found between the lines than in the surface words.
by Robert Frost
Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
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| Reviewed by J'nia Fowler |
12/5/2009 |
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| Simply wonderful. J'nia |
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| Reviewed by Felix Perry |
12/4/2009 |
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Wonderful words of wise prose indeed my friend. No more need be said.
fee |
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