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Why make so
much of fragmentary blue
In here and there a bird, or
butterfly,
Or flower, or wearing-stone, or open eye,
When heaven presents in sheets the solid hue?
Since earth is earth, perhaps, not heaven (as yet)--
Though some savants make earth include the sky;
And
blue so far above us comes so high,
It only gives our
wish for blue a whet.
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