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In his own verse the poet still we find, In his own page his memory lives enshrined, As in their amber sweets the smothered bees, As the fair cedar, fallen before the breeze, Lies self-embalmed amidst the mouldering trees.
Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr., Songs of Many Seasons, Bryant's Seventieth Birthday, Stanza 17 and 18. For same idea see Ant, Fly, Spider | ||
