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Let us be drunk, and for a while forget, Forget, and, ceasing even from regret, Live without reason and despite of rhyme, As in a dream preposterous and sublime, Where place and hour and means for once are met. Where is the use of effort? Love and debt And disappointment have us in a net. Let us break out, and taste the morning prime . . . Let us be drunk. In vain our little hour we strut and fret, And mouth our wretched parts as for a bet: We cannot please the tragicaster Time. To gain the crystal sphere, the silver dime, Where Sympathy sits dimpling on us yet, Let us be drunk!
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