And with the morning star lovers take flight.
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ay, then, your partings; and most dry should you drainYour lips of their wine, your eyes of the frantic rain,Till these be as the barren Cenobite. And then? O dear Sir, stumbling down the street,Continue, till you come to wars and wounds; Beat the air, Madam, till your house-clock sounds;And if no Lethe flows beneath your casement, And when ten years have brought no full effacement,Philosophy was wrong, and you may meet. 27
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