50. Miniatures -
My puny epigrams befit,
So you declare, my puny wit;
I am too stupid I admit
To wade like you in blood
Through twelve long books — my genius sets
T'wards finished marble statuettes,
The while your lofty soul begets
A giant built of mud.
So you declare, my puny wit;
I am too stupid I admit
To wade like you in blood
Through twelve long books — my genius sets
T'wards finished marble statuettes,
The while your lofty soul begets
A giant built of mud.
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