The Nymph Complaining For The Death Of Her Faun
The wanton Troopers riding
Have shot my Faun and it will dye
Ungentle men
They cannot
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The wanton Troopers riding
Have shot my Faun and it will dye
Ungentle men
They cannot
First Old Man He threw his crutched stick down: there came Into his face the anger flame,
And he spoke viciously of one Who thwarted him—his son’s son
He turned his head away
—“I hate Absurdity of language, prate From growing fellows