Emlyn Dickinson's Herbarium
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It dropped so low in my regard
I heard it hit the ground,
And go to pieces on the stones
At bottom of my mind;
Yet blamed the fate that fractured, less
Than I reviled myself
For entertaining plated wares
Upon my silver shelf.
To lose one's faith surpasses
The loss of an estate,
Because estates can be
Replenished, -- faith cannot.

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