Whittier wrote, The foot is yours; where’er it falls, It treads your well-wrought leather, On earthen floor, in marble halls, On carpet, or on heather. Still there the sweetest charm is found Of matron grace or vestal’s, As Hebe’s foot bore nectar round Among the old celestials. Rap, rap!–your stout and bluff brogan, With footsteps [...]
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