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The Song of Quoodle

They haven't got no noses,

The fallen sons of Eve;

Even the smell of

Is not what they supposes;

But more than mind

And more than men believe.

They haven't got no noses,

They cannot even

When door and darkness

The park a Jew encloses,

Where even the law of

Will let you steal a smell.

The brilliant smell of water,

The brave smell of a stone,

The smell of dew and thunder,

The old bones buried under,

Are things in which they

And err, if left alone.

The wind from winter forests,

The scent of scentless flowers,

The breath of brides' adorning,

The smell of snare and warning,

The smell of Sunday morning,

God gave to us for ours     *And Quoodle here

All things that Quoodle can,

They haven't got no noses,

They haven't got no noses,

And goodness only

The Noselessness of Man.

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Gilbert Keith Chesterton

Gilbert Keith Chesterton (29 May 1874 – 14 June 1936) was an English writer, philosopher, lay theologian, and literary and art critic. He has be…

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