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Mankind Men are but children of a larger growth; Our appetites are apt to change as theirs, And full as craving too, and full as vain; And yet the soul, shut up in her dark room, Viewing so clear abroad, at home sees nothing; But, like a mole in earth, busy and blind, Works all her folly up, and casts it outward To the world's open view. John Dryden's other poems:
Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1768 |
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