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Ill-Starred

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 To bear a weight that cannot be borne, 
Sisyphus, even you aren't that strong, 
Although your heart cannot be torn 
Time is short and Art is long.
Far from celebrated sepulchers Toward a solitary graveyard My heart, like a drum muffled hard Beats a funeral march for the ill-starred.
—Many jewels are buried or shrouded In darkness and oblivion's clouds, Far from any pick or drill bit, Many a flower unburdens with regret Its perfume sweet like a secret; In profoundly empty solitude to sit.

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