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Poem	Proud of my broken heart, since thou didst break it, Proud of the pain I did not feel till thee, Proud of my night, since thou with moons dost slake it, Not to partake thy passion, my humility. Thou can'st not boast, like Jesus, drunken without companion Was the strong cup of anguish brewed for the Nazarene Thou can'st not pierce tradition with the peerless puncture, See! I usurped thy crucifix to honor mine!
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