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a web of many textures

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I saw a damsel holding by a string
A little puppy, who, disposed to stray,
Choked at restraint, and made a frequent spring
In effort vain to tear himself away.
But yet, the more he strove, the more he choked,
Until he deemed his conduct would n't pay,
And moved along as though he were provoked,
And held his head down in a sullen way.
My soul was touched the emblem thus to see
Of life's too frequent scenes, where day by day
Strings clog the spirit's elasticity,
And kill the willingness that would obey, —
Men, like the puppy, follow at a word,
But, try to drag them, and their dander 's stirred.