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Life.
O Life! what is thy quest?—What owns this world
Of stalking shadows, fleeting phantasies,
Enjoyments substanceless—to wed the mind
To its still querulous, ever-faltering mate—
Or crib the pinion of the aspiring soul
(Upborne ever by the mystical)
To a poor nook of this sin-stricken earth,
Or sterile point of time?—The Universe,
My spirit, is thy birth-right—and thy term
Of occupance, thou river, limitless—
Eternity!
