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112
MICHAEL ROBARTES
O little did they care who danced between,
And little she by whom her dance was seen
So she danced. No thought,
Body perfection brought,
For what but eye and ear silence the mind
With the minute particulars of mankind?
Mind moved yet seemed to stop
As 'twere a spinning-top.
In contemplation had those three so wrought
Upon a moment, and so stretched it out
That they, time overthrown,
Were dead yet flesh and bone.
