Page:Collected poems vol 2 de la mare.djvu/119

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THE DUNCE

 
WHY does he still keep ticking?
Why does his round white face
Stare at me over the books and ink,
And mock at my disgrace?
Why does that thrush call, "Dunce, dunce, dunce!"?
Why does that bluebottle buzz?
Why does the sun so silent shine? —
And what do I care if it does?

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