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C.N. Douglas, comp.  Forty Thousand Quotations: Prose and Poetical.  1917.
        And there’s one rare strange virtue in their speeches,
The secret of their mastery—they are short.
        And thou art terrible—the tear,
The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier;
And all we know, or dream, or fear
Of agony, are thine.
              The spell is thine that reaches
  The heart, and makes the wisest head its sport;
And there’s one rare, strange virtue in thy speeches,
  The secret of their mastery—they are short.
        They love their land because it is their own,
And scorn to give aught other reason why.
  Beauty, the fading rainbow’s pride.  5
  I cannot spare the luxury of believing that all things beautiful are what they seem.  6
  I sorrow that all fair things must decay.  7
  One of the few, the immortal names, that were not born to die.  8
  The wild-flower wreath of feeling, the sunbeam of the heart.  9
  What is man’s love? His vows are broke even while his parting kiss is warm.  10

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