Sublime
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The Gardener and Death
A Persian nobleman:
This morning, white with fear, my gardener flees Into my house: ‘Master, a moment please!’
Out in the rose-beds, pruning shoots with care, I looked behind me. Death was standing there.
I gave a start, and sought my getaway, But glimpsed his hand that made as if to slay.
Master, your horse, and at full tilt I’ll
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