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A poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox |
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Circumstance |
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Title: Circumstance Author: Ella Wheeler Wilcox [More Titles by Wilcox] Talk not to me of souls that do conceive It is not so. That which we most desire, Show me thy labour, I straightway will name We build our ships from timbers of the brain; There is no Fate, no Providence, no Chance, [The end] GO TO TOP OF SCREEN |