And as the fingers of the milling machinery owners son, That knew a grip for books and tennis As comfortably as one for iron and leather,- As his taut, spare fingers wound the gauze Around the thick hunch over of the wound, His own reach seemed to him desire wings of butterflies Flickering in the sunlight over summertime fields. The knots and notches,-many in the wide recondite advance that limit in his,-seemed beautiful. They were like the marks of disturbed ponies play,- Bunches of new greens gaolbreak a hard turf. And pulverization sounds and factory thoughts Were banished from him by that larger, quieter hand That lay in his w...If you extremity to get a to the full essay, order it on our website: Ordercustompaper.com
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