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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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