Poem I love all beauteous things, I seek and adore them; God hath no better praise, And man in his hasty days Is honoured for them. I too will something make And joy in the making! Altho' tomorrow it seem' Like the empty words of a dream Remembered, on waking. Inspirational Posted by: n\a | Rating: 0.00 0 Give your vote +5 Post Comment: Your name: Your Email: Comments :

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