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To the Teacher

 



What make we here, we well read fools,
assembled in these languid halls
with books, and poems, and weary rules
that bind the wards which fill our walls?

What mar we here with books that some
will scoff that we should ever read
and thoughts that they would keep us from
in favour of the common creed.

Oh, listen not to idle droll,
for we are fools enough to know
before us sits a human soul,
and that is what we seek to grow.
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