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You might curb your magnanimity, and be more of an artist, and load every rift of your subject with ore.
— John Keats
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On turf and curb and bower-roof The snow-storm spreads its ivory woof; It paves with pearl the garden-walk; And lovingly around the tatter'd stalk And snivering stem its magic weaves A mantle fair as lily-leaves.
— John Townsend Trowbridge
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