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Eight OClock

 He stood, and heard the steeple 
Sprinkle the quarters on the morning town. 
One, two, three, four, to market-place and people 
It tossed them down. 

Strapped, noosed, nighing his hour, 
He stood and counted them and cursed his luck; 
And then the clock collected in the tower 
Its strength, and struck.

Poem by A E Housman
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