| When the scorching sun's high at noon, |
I run from here to there,
From east to west, north to south,
Through the fields, over the ditches,
Up the slope, over the summit,
Down the hill, to the valley,
Into the woods, through the glade,
Not in search of ores, nor of gems,
Neither of buried . . .
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| The Titanic! The gigantic steamer! |
The luxury of the world!
Is She the pride of modern technique?
Or the shame of all the helmsmen?
How many lives She brought down in the icy water?
How much wealth She sank in the depth of ocean?
How many tears were shed for Her?
How many books were written on Her? . . .
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