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I heard
The poet pass with a sound
Like the breaking of ground,
Like a storm, like a violent bird;
His head was a king's,
And I noted the gay common things
Of his strange diadem;
I was blinded by them.

Crown of weeds!
For his brow debonair,
For his vagabond needs,
Crown of weeds,
Bud, berry, thistle and tare:
Yes! but who flung the far seeds?