A-dance as had their grandsires never sinned,
the giddy throng now treads the village green.
“Farewell forever to the Winter’s frost --
Let Summer be our air
forevermore.
Tear down the tower-clock of seasons’ whirl,
and let us frolic in oblivion,
our ever-noonday joys
unmarked, untimed,
and unreliev’d by memory of dark.”
But as our nature, from the Maker’s forge,
is blent of virtue, yet with vice annealed,
so shows the iron-bound justice of the Judge
in equal measure of the Light, with Night.
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