Page:Renascenceotherp00milluoft.pdf/43

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Like tops across a table, gathering speed
With every spin, to waver on the edge
One instant-looking over-and the next
To shudder and lurch forward out of sight-

******

Ah, I am worn out-I am wearied out-
It is too much-I am but flesh and blood,
And I must sleep. Though you were dead again,

I am but flesh and blood, and I must sleep.

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