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 | Collected poems of Herman Melville |  |
INSCRIPTION
[_]
For a Boulder near the spot where the last Hardback was laid low By the new proprietor of the Hill of Arrowhead.
Weeds turn no wheel, nor run;
Radiance pure or redolence
Some have, but this had none.
And yet heaven gave it leave to live
And idle it in the sun.
| Collected poems of Herman Melville | |