How true, Mr Gibbons, how true

The silver swan, who living had no note,
When death approached, unlocked her silent throat.
Leaning her breast upon the reedy shore,
Thus sang her first and last, and sang no more:
“Farewell, all joys! O death, come close mine eyes!
More geese than swans now live, more fools than wise.”

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2 thoughts on “How true, Mr Gibbons, how true

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