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     Only a man harrowing clods
         In a slow silent walk
     With an old horse that stumbles and nods
         Half asleep as they stalk.


     Only thin smoke without flame
         From the heaps of couch-grass;
     Yet this will go onward the same
         Though Dynasties pass.


     Yonder a maid and her wight
        Come whispering by:
    War's annals will cloud into night
        Ere their story die.

- Thomas Hardy

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