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Poem by Countee Cullen
Song in Spite of Myself
Never love with all your heart, It only ends in aching; And bit by bit to the smallest part That organ will be breaking. Never love with all your mind, It only ends in fretting; In musing on sweet joys behind, too poignant for forgetting. Never love with all your soul, for such there is no ending; though a mind that frets may find control, and a shattered heart find mending. Give but a grain of the heart's rich seed, Confine some undercover, And when love goes, bid him God-speed, and find another lover.
Countee Cullen's other poems:
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