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December 2, 2024

Heart mine, art mine, whose embraces
Clasp but wind that past thee bloweth
E’en this air so subtly gloweth,
Guerdoned by thy sun-gold traces,
That my heart is half afraid
For the fragrance on him laid;
Even so love’s might amazes!

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Thought:

“There is no humiliation worse than the consciousness of a wasted life. It stains the spirit, forestalls hope, and destroys any motive for action or change.”

Peter Ackroyd | English Music

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