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 Springfield Magical by Vachel Lindsay 
						In this, the City of my Discontent, Sometimes there comes a whisper from the grass,
 "Romance, Romance — is here. No Hindu town
 Is quite so strange. No Citadel of Brass
 By Sinbad found, held half such love and hate;
 No picture-palace in a picture-book
 Such webs of Friendship, Beauty, Greed and Fate!"
 
 In this, the City of my Discontent,
 Down from the sky, up from the smoking deep
 Wild legends new and old burn round my bed
 While trees and grass and men are wrapped in sleep.
 Angels come down, with Christmas in their hearts,
 Gentle, whimsical, laughing, heaven-sent;
 And, for a day, fair Peace have given me
 In this, the City of my Discontent!
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