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81 tHE HouSE WHErE i WAS Born36 My childhood home remains so dear blue silken the salon where i would study picture books and sigh— these memories are always near. There was a pretty puppet dressed in garments full of silver strains, so happy was i then, but pressed to study numbers, tears revealed my pains. There too i heard a calling still to build a world of poetry. i sat upon the window sill and dreamt a tram or ship to be. A lass would often wave at me from the palatial house across the street . . . it glittered then so radiantly abandoned now and incomplete. She used to laugh, the golden lass, whene’er the boy blew kisses sweet. no longer sits she there. Alas, she sleeps where never more will smile or greet. ...

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