The fields were upholstered with poppies so red, And black as my hat was each rook; And the hedges were bordered, like quilts on a bed, With the bombazine braid of the brook. And I thought to myself, with an auctioneer's smirk, As I gazed on the freehold so rare: 'O Lord, if on Earth these chaste shows are thy work, Of what is the Kingdom up there?'
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