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Our dream wrestles in the castle of doubt.
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Oh! The acceleration with which my heart does proceed,
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It might begin again here:
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I am unable
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And I became the snail I always was,
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Beauty is a core of fire
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Everything run along in creation till I end the song
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The world is full of loss; bring, wind, my love,
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if one were Baudelaire
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I’m not really waiting to be discovered. I’ve learned
