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<h2><SPAN name="page445"></SPAN><span class="pagenum">p. 445</span>POETRY EVERYWHERE</h2>
<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">What</span> time the poet
hath hymned<br/>
The writhing maid, lithe-limbed,<br/>
Quivering on amaranthine asphodel,<br/>
How can he paint her woes,<br/>
Knowing, as well he knows,<br/>
That all can be set right with calomel?</p>
<p class="poetry">When from the poet’s plinth<br/>
The amorous colocynth<br/>
Yearns for the aloe, faint with rapturous
thrills,<br/>
How can he hymn their throes<br/>
Knowing, as well he knows,<br/>
That they are only uncompounded pills?</p>
<p class="poetry">Is it, and can it be,<br/>
Nature hath this decree,<br/>
Nothing poetic in the world shall dwell?<br/>
Or that in all her works<br/>
Something poetic lurks,<br/>
Even in colocynth and calomel?</p>
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