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From W.H. Auden:

January 14, 2016

“O stretch your hands across the sea,”

The impassioned lover cries,

“Stretch them towards your harm and me.

Our grass is green, and sensual our brief bed,

The stream sings at its foot, and at its head

The mild and vegetarian beasts are fed.”

So the impassioned lover cries

Till his storm of pleasure dies:

From the bedpost and the rocks

Death’s enticing echo mocks,

And his voice replies:

The greater the lock, the more false to its object

Not to born is the best for man

After the kiss comes the impulse to throttle

Break the embraces, dance while you can.

– From “Death’s Echo”

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