< Page:Rudyard Kipling - A diversity of creatures.djvu
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A DIVERSITY OF CREATURES
Me, in whose breast no flame hath burned
Life-long, save that by Pindar lit,
Such lore leaves cold: I am not turned
Aside to it
More than when, sunk in thought profound
Of what the unaltering Gods require,
My steward (friend but slave) brings round
Logs for my fire.
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