God spare the day on which I might have died To see my poetry and Rapp's shown side by side. My meter, scansion, delicate nuance Compared to some mud-cloggéd savage dance By thumping boots on some unfeeling flooring-- Enough to leave me comatose, and snoring! And if on holy days the Lord sends bennies Let him send me mine alone, or else not any! SOme things, for sure, in love are not worth bearing And one of these must be this grim comparing!
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