A woman senses naught of thought's menace, That haunting: consciousness or time and space, Whilst man, accursed with Intellect to think, Doubting: and dreading, shrinks beside the brink. The bowl's round rim impels tho awrul thought— "That which no ending hath with doom is fraught"; Until Tor straining lungs we ease assure With soothing Woods' Great Peppermint Cure. (A.d,),
Permanent link to this item
https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/AS19321007.2.23.4
Bibliographic details
Auckland Star, Volume LXIII, Issue 238, 7 October 1932, Page 3
Word Count
59Page 3 Advertisements Column 4 Auckland Star, Volume LXIII, Issue 238, 7 October 1932, Page 3
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Acknowledgements
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