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1468

A winged spark doth soar about—
I never met it near
For Lightning it is oft mistook
When nights are hot and sere—

Its twinkling Travels it pursues
Above the Haunts of men—
A speck of Rapture—first perceived
By feeling it is gone—
Rekindled by some action quaint

Edited by Peter Carter

Added: 2 Apr 2003 | Last Read: 2 Dec 2008 8:51 AM | Viewed: 5056 times

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