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[1] => "14328"*p388|An Elegy upon the Death of the Dean of Paul's, Dr. John Donne
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[0] => Can we not force from widowed poetry / Now thou art dead (great Donne) one elegy, / To crown thy hearse? Why yet did we not trust, / Thou with unkneaded dough-baked prose, thy dust, / Such as the unscissored Lecturer from the flower / Of fading rhetoric, short-lived as his hour, / Dry as the sand that measures it, might lay / Upon the ashes, on the funeral day?
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