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Fires of Driftwood

by Isabel Ecclestone Mackay

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Indifference

A BIRD, a wild-flower and a tree—
I care for them, not they for me.

I see all heaven in a pool—
But the frog there takes me for a fool.

To this dead thrush a tear I gave—
All Spring shall sing above my grave,

And naught I spend my heart upon
Know lack or loss that I am gone—

A bird, a wild-flower and a tree,
I cherish them; they suffer me!

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