In lengthening slumberous reposes lies
Dickens' sterling pen under bluish skies;
And through them gloats deathless sun,
Taunting all that under his embers burn.
No more savoring of Oliver’s twisty trials
In doleful dints and extra-nuanced miles;
Nor shall of tested Nell all posterity hear,
Cooed in sweetly plaintive rhythms dear.
Nicholas Nickleby's adventures now
Must halt and take a somnolent...
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