He said he could be unhappy. But he swore Time talked to him in separated sounds. He took them as they came and loved them singly- Each one, he parried, perfect within its bounds. As for the burden's end, the tune's direction- He smiled; he was content with disconnection.
Yet who could smile and mean it? Who could rest, As this man did, midway the million things? Who else could be serene at truth's circumference When only the known center of it sings? Who else but he?-submissive to each part Till it became the all, the homeless heart.完
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