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Nay, what is Nature's
Self, but an endless
Strife toward music,
Euphony, rhyme?

Trees in their blooming,
Tides in their flowing,
Stars in their circling,
Tremble with song.

God on His throne is
Eldest of poets;
Unto His measures
Moveth the whole.
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Tue, 2025-07-08 07:42
#1

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