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Austin Dobson

In after days, when time has sped
Our poet's fame afar, and spread,
For all to see, the magic page ;
Men shall acclaim his heritage
Of immortality.   Then, read
By loyal lovers, and re-read,
" Thou dost not sleep, thou art not dead
Will be his epitaph.   They'll gauge,
In after days,
New song by his.   " See what a thread
Of delicate verse," it will be said,
" This master wrought into a cage
Where little linnets sing I "   An age
Unborn shall crown his honoured head.
In after days.




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