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Forget friendship. Ardor.
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They do not sweat and whine about their condition,
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understand why the shaman
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And tints the Transit in the West
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Nevertheless, angels. Why did they
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What we see, we see
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Think of all the poetry
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What name is there for the color that arouses
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But it is shrouded, veiled: We must have made some ghastly error.
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It hangs from heaven to earth.