Unless you can love, as the angels may, With the breadth of heaven betwixt you; Unless you can dream that his faith is fast, Through behoving and unbeloving; Unless you can die when the dream is past- Oh, never call it loving!
Death was past, life not come: so he waited.
Pleasure must succeed to pleasure, else past pleasure turns to pain
But how carve way i' the life that lies before, If bent on groaning ever for the past?
Since there my past life lies, why alter it?
The past is gained, secure, and on record.
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