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A Man Young And Old: II. Human Dignity

 Like the moon her kindness is,
If kindness I may call
What has no comprehension in't,
But is the same for all
As though my sorrow were a scene
Upon a painted wall.
So like a bit of stone I lie Under a broken tree.
I could recover if I shrieked My heart's agony To passing bird, but I am dumb From human dignity.

Poem by William Butler Yeats
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