James Thomson The City of Dreadful Night
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James Thomson The City of Dreadful Night
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1
Though the Garden of thy Life be wholly waste, the sweet flowers withered, the fruit-trees barren, over its wall hang ever the rich dark clusters of the Vine of Death, within easy reach of thy hand, which may pluck of them when it will.
2
Life divided by that persistent three = LXX / 333 = .210.