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The Last Question
Oh the good times! the laughter on the hill! The parties down at Larry's in the spring! Your sovereign pleasure, careless itself to save, Goes naked at the heart. Touching, you bring Rumors of heaven and its generous spoils Here, even, where our hooded shadows rise To play the stab-scene, the end of love, While grief intones, ever the third that stays. Now that your pity shines in other hall, Now that your grain again comes to the mill, Shall I be happy soon, shall I rejoice, Or wrestle with that stranger whom you praise?