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A Fragment

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A Fragment

Charles Erskine Scott Wood

Nov 22, 2022
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On this high mountain cliff,
Which once the sea waves tore,
A fluted shell, frail blossom of that timeless shore.
I shall pass, I and all my braggart thought,
As dies on space a sounding bell;
But here on this dead shore, in the great lap caught,
A little fluted shell.
 
 
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