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Many a phrase has the English language
I have heard but one
Low as the laughter of the Cricket
Loud, as the Thunder's Tongue
Murmuring, like old Caspian Choirs
When the Tide's a' lull
Saying itself in new infection
Like a Whippoorwill
Breaking in bright Orthography
On my simple sleep
Thundering its Prospective
Till I stir, and weep
Not for the Sorrow, done me
But the push of Joy
Say it again, Saxton!
Hush—Only to me!