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The Evening Star

 Smiles soon abate; the boisterous throes 
Of anger long burst forth; 
Inconstantly the south-wind blows, 
But steadily the north. 

Thy star, O Venus! often changes 
Its radiant seat above, 
The chilling pole-star never ranges -- 
'Tis thus with Hate and Love.

Poem by Walter Savage Landor
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