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Instead of a mad weir of tigerish waters,
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In a rapture of rage, for perfection’s endowment,
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What am I to myself
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Tonight let’s sit awhile on our suitcases filled with reason,
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One equal temper of heroic hearts,
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Life is a joke you crack,
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the big dipper pouring night down over you, and everything
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it couldn’t do those
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The poem, the bridge, the circuit, the cure
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Let all who prate of Beauty hold their peace,