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The tip of one finger touched it. Night when my life lies with no past or future But only endless space. Dost thou still nourish this destructive Flame? But Death had his grudge against me, and he got up in the way, like an armed robber, with a pike in his hand. Open the haul, and shake The fill of shillings free, Let all the satchels break And leap about the knee In shoals of ectasy.
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