'Twas a jolly old pedagogue, long ago,
Tall and slender, and sallow and dry;
His form was bent, and his gait was slow,
His long thin hair was white as snow,
But a wonderful twinkle shone in his eye.
And he sang every night as he went to bed,
"Let us be happy down here below:
The living should live, though the dead be dead."
Said the jolly old pedagogue long ago.
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My imagination can picture no fairer happiness than to continue living for art.
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