Poem of the day
Tyranny.
by Sidney Lanier
'Spring-germs, spring-germs,
I charge you by your life, go back to death.
This glebe is sick, this wind is foul of breath.
Stay: feed the worms.
'Oh! every clod
Is faint, and falters from the war of growth
And crumbles in a dreary dust of sloth,
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