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Then, welcome each rebuff That turns earth's smoothness rough, Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand but go I Be our joys three-parts pain Strive, and hold cheap the strain Learn, nor account the pang dare, never grudge the throe Page 5 Fromm! For thence, — a paradox Which comforts while it mocks, Shall life succeed in that it seems to fail What I aspired to be, And was not, comforts me A brute I might have been, but would not sink 1 the scale.
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