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![]() With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels. |
![]() No human dwelling ever give me food, Or sleep, or rest: but, over waste and wild, In search of nothing, that this earth can give, But expiation, will I wander on -- A Man by pain and thought compelled to live, Yet loathing life -- till anger is appeased In Heaven, and Mercy gives me leave to die. |
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![]() Or some secreted island, Heaven knows where! But in the very world, which is the world Of all of us, -- the place where in the end We find our happiness, or not at all! |
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![]() And hermits are contented with their cells. |
![]() Or but a wandering voice? |
![]() For better lore would seldom yearn, Could I but teach the hundredth part Of what from thee I learn. |
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