For the crown of our life as it closes Is darkness, the fruit thereof dust; No thorns go as deep as a rose's, And love is more cruel than lust. Time turns the old days to derision, Our loves into corpses or wives; And marriage and death and division Make barren our lives.
Life is the lust of a lamp for the light that is dark till the dawn of the day that we die.
Love is more cruel than lust.
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