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The Curse at Farewell
THE CURSE AT FAREWELL
Will bite my hidden breast repeatedly !
Fie on you, whencesoe’er you came, and be
Accurséd, selfish traveller! Here, in shade
Of my life’s wood you sat, and pastime made—
To waste a little leisure tore ashred
The petals of my happiness, to thread
A playful garland—then, in great disdain,
Departing, snap in two the thin, poor chain,
And toss it down! My life’s whole glory there
Lies rolled in dust. Then go! But, going, bear
My curse with you—the knowledge for whose sake
You scorn me, never, never shali you make
Your own! Mechanic porter,’ you shall bring
This gift to others, knowing it a thing
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