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* * * WHEN we are dead I firmly do believe We shall slip back into the primal sea Of the universal life, that there shall be No such false joys as on this earth deceive —Nay, nor no truer ones—nor cause to grieve Nor terror nor despite nor mockery Nor love, life's strongest bitterest mystery And while we still are struggling in the strife Surely it is a gracious boon though small That one brief sweet real joy at least there is, To be about to die and know that all The anguish and the agony of life Will not last longer than a lover's kiss. Richard Hovey's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1222 |
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