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The Progress Of The Spark. Rudyard Kipling

This spark now set, retarded, yet forbears 
To hold her light however so he swears
That turns a metalled crank, and leather cloked,
With some small hammers tappeth hither an yon;

Peering as when she showeth and when is gone;
For wait he must till the vext Power′s evoked
That′s one with the lightnings. Wait in the showers soaked;
Or by the road-side sunned. She′ll not progress.
Poor soul, here taught how great things may by less
Be stayed, to file contacts doth himself address!

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