A serious house on serious earth it is,
In whose blent air all our compulsions meet,
Are recognized, and robed as destinies.
And that much never can be obsolete,
Since someone will forever be surprising
A hunger in himself to be more serious,
And gravitating with it to this ground,
Which, he once heard, was proper to grow wise in,
If only that so many dead lie round.
Only steal from the best
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I'm working on a feature for WordLand II where you can flip a switch to see
the OG Metadata for a post you're reading, by clicking on an icon that
looks ...
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