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If I cast my eyes before me |
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Towards an infinite space in which I do not exist |
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And if I look behind me, what a terrible procession there in which I do not exist |
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And how little space I occupy in this first bit of time |
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Like to the falling of a star |
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Or as the flights of eagles are |
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Or like the fresh spring's gaudy hue |
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Or silver drops of morning dew |
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Or like a wind that chafes the flood |
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Or bubbles on which water stood |
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Even such is man whose borrowed light |
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Is straight called in and paid tonight |
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The wind blows out, the bubble dies |
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The spring entombed in autumn lies |
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The dew dries up, the star is shot |
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The flight is past and man forgot |
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The wind blows out and the bubble dies |
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The spring entombed in autumn lies |
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The dew dries up and the star is shot |
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The flight is past and man forgot |
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Earth covers earth |
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Time tryeth truth |