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Your worship is your furnaces
which, like old idols, lost obscenes,
have molten bowels; your vision is
machines for making more machines.
-- Gordon Bottomley, 1874
Her locks an ancient lady gave
Her loving husband's life to save;
And men -- they honored so the dame --
Upon some stars bestowed her name.
But to our modern married fair,
Who'd give their lords to save their hair,
No stellar recognition's given.
There are not stars enough in heave
🚕 -- 👔 -- 🌳 -- 👃 -- 🚗 -- 😺 -- 📘 -- 🎄 -- 🐠 -- 🐳 -- 🥞 -- 🐛 -- 🌂 -- 🎍 -- 💃