The sky of brightest gray seems dark
To one whose sky was ever white.
To one who never knew a spark,
Thro' all his life, of love or light,
The grayest cloud seems over bright.
The robin sounds a beggar's note
Where one the nightingale has heard,
But he, for whom no silver throat,
Its liquid music ever stirred,
Deems robin still the sweetest bird.
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