The Two Round Spaces on the Tombstone by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

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The Devil believes that the Lord will come, / Stealing a march without beat of drum, / About the same time that he came last / On an old Christmas-day in a snowy blast: / Till he bids the trump sound neither body nor soul stirs / For the dead men's heads have slipt under their bolsters.

Ho! ho! brother Bard, in our churchyard / Both beds and bolsters are soft and green; / Save one alone, and that's of stone, / And under it lies a Counsellor keen. / This tomb would be square, if it were not too long; / And 'tis rail'd round with iron, tall, spear-like, and strong.

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