75. To Pontia -
A THRUSH , and a cake, and a leg of a hare,
You send me, most delicate food you declare.
I won't give them away; they shall stay on my shelf.
But — I don't think somehow I shall eat them myself.
You send me, most delicate food you declare.
I won't give them away; they shall stay on my shelf.
But — I don't think somehow I shall eat them myself.
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