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Updated: May 6, 2025
I prayed as if my spirit did belong To some old master who was wise and strong, Because he lov'd and suffered, and was weak. "I trill'd the notes, and curb'd them to a sigh, And when they falter'd most, I made them leap Fierce from my bow, as from a summer sleep A young she-devil. I was fired thereby To bolder efforts and a muffled cry Came from the strings as if a saint did weep.
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