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#tennyson – @anenlighteningellipsis on Tumblr
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Beauty in the apertures of pain

@anenlighteningellipsis / anenlighteningellipsis.tumblr.com

I want to say Without temper If possible without the least sense of the heroic Without even the measured ambition to speak the truth which is only another vulgarity To say I am not what I was Indeed I was nothing and now I am at least the possibility of something and this I will defend.
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But they smile, they find a music centred in a doleful song Steaming up, a lamentation and an ancient tale of wrong, Like a tale of little meaning tho’ the words are strong; Chanted from an ill-used race of men that cleave the soil, Sow the seed, and reap the harvest with enduring toil, Storing yearly little dues of wheat, and wine and oil; Till they perish and they suffer—some, ’tis whisper’d—down in hell Suffer endless anguish, others in Elysian valleys dwell, Resting weary limbs at last on beds of asphodel. Surely, surely, slumber is more sweet than toil, the shore Than labor in the deep mid-ocean, wind and wave and oar; O, rest ye, brother mariners, we will not wander more.

The Lotos-Eaters, Tennyson

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