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Every brick that is upon the parapet of a palace
Is the locks of a loved one & the calamity of a soul
The clay that like that is beneath thy feet like that (clay)
That prairie holds a wazir & the head of a sultan.

 

P 76

The thorn, that's trodden down of every cow, maybe.
Sprung from some loveling's tress, some fair one's brow may be:
Each brick, on palace-wall that standeth now, maybe,
A vizier's hand or head of Sultan prow may be.

Th 321

The thorn that bends 'neath every creature's tread,
May spring from some love's curl, fair brow of maid,
And every tile on palace battlement
Some Vizier's finger be or Sultan's head!

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