When nations grow old, the Arts grow cold,
And Commerce settles on every tree.
William Blake
When nations grow old, the Arts grow cold, And Commerce settles on every tree.
Man please thy maker and be merry set not for this world a cherry.
When nations grow old, the Arts grow cold, And Commerce settles on every tree.
When nations grow old, the Arts grow cold,
And Commerce settles on every tree.
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