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Art
When heart touches by feeling
Then the doors open
And the insidious power get overflowing
Poetry, the art is born.
The dreary eyes have no sight to feel
How the leaves are dancing and swing
But heart sinks deep and weep and feel
Oh! art is obviously rising.
When heart touches by the art
Insidious glory extends to the face
Art your becomes yourself part
And life becomes deference.
