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 | Collected poems |  |
III. III
We cannot crown ourselves with everything,
Nor can we coax the Fates for us to quarrel:
No matter what we are, or what we sing,
Time finds a withered leaf in every laurel.
Nor can we coax the Fates for us to quarrel:
76
Time finds a withered leaf in every laurel.
| Collected poems | |