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To Himself

 Now will you rest forever,
My tired heart.
Dead is the last deception, That I thought eternal.
Well I feel In us the sweet illusions, Nothing but ash, desire burned out.
Rest forever.
You have Trembled enough.
Nothing is worth Thy beats, nor does the earth deserve Thy sighs.
Bitter and dull Is life, there is nought else.
The world is clay.
Rest now.
Despair For the last time.
To our kind, Fate Gives but death.
Now despise Yourself, nature, the sinister Power that secretly commands our common ruin, And the infinite vanity of everything.

Poem by Giacomo Leopardi
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