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AN EXHORTATION.
Camelions feed on light and air:
Poets' food is love and fame:
If in this wide world of care
Poets could but find the same
With as little toil as they,
Would they ever change their hue
As the light camelions do,
Suiting it to every ray
Twenty times a-day?
Poets are on this cold earth,
As camelions might be,
Hidden from their early birth
In a cave beneath the sea;
