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A Last Word

 Let us go hence: the night is now at hand; 
The day is overworn, the birds all flown; 
And we have reaped the crops the gods have sown; 
Despair and death; deep darkness o'er the land, 
Broods like an owl; we cannot understand 
Laughter or tears, for we have only known 
Surpassing vanity: vain things alone 
Have driven our perverse and aimless band.
Let us go hence, somewhither strange and cold, To Hollow Lands where just men and unjust Find end of labour, where's rest for the old, Freedom to all from love and fear and lust.
Twine our torn hands! O pray the earth enfold Our life-sick hearts and turn them into dust.

by Ernest Dowson
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