| Poem: |
Being out of heart with government
I took a broken root to fling
where the proud, wayward squirrel went,
taking delight that he could spring;
And he, with that low whinnying sound
that is like laughter, sprang again
And so to the other tree at a bound.
Nor the tame will, nor timid brain,
nor heavy knitting of the brow
bred that fierce tooth and cleanly limb
and threw him up to laugh on the bough;
No government appointed him.
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