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As the lone, frighted user of a night-road

As the lone, frighted user of a night-road

Suddenly turns round, nothing to detect,

Yet on his fear's sense keepeth still the load

Of that brink-nothing he doth but suspect;

And the cold terror moves to him more near

Of something that from nothing casts a spell,

That, when he moves, to fright more is not there,

And's only visible when invisible

So I upon the world turn round in thought,

And nothing viewing do no courage take,

But my more terror, from no seen cause got,

To that felt corporate emptiness forsake,

And draw my sense of mystery's horror from

Seeing no mystery's mystery alone.

Poem by Fernando Pessoa
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