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The heart asks pleasure first, And then, excuse from pain; And then, those little anodynes That deaden suffering;
And then, to go to sleep; And then, if it should be The will of its Inquisitor, The liberty to die.
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poems--the-heart-asks-pleasure-first
Displayed from body
The heart asks pleasure first, And then, excuse from pain; And then, those little anodynes That deaden suffering;
And then, to go to sleep; And then, if it should be The will of its Inquisitor, The liberty to die.
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