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The Coin |
It is time when dark turns to night,
When it turns upon its rough edge.
It catches the sun, then quick its stars
Make light
Upon a face-well, poor-spent; its
Might to that conjoin'd sphere;
And speculator, there, dare not
It hedge, nor
To no slot, nor it rise
Unmarred, 'cept by heaven's gate.
copyright 2005
Gregory
De Feo |
