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After He Has Been Extemporising on an Instrument
Not of His Own Invention |
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LO! What is this that I make—sudden, supreme, unrehearsed— This that my clutch in the crowd pressed at a venture has raised? Forward and onward I sprang when I thought (as I ought) I reversed, And a cab like martagon opes and I sit in the wreckage dazed.
And someone is taking my name, and the driver is rending the air |