Page:The Yellow Book - 03.djvu/59

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By Arthur Symons
49
For of our time we lose so large a partIn serious trifles, and so oft let slipThe wine of every moment at the lipIts moment, and the moment of the heart.
We are awake so little on the earth,And we shall sleep so long, and rise so late,If there is any knocking at that gateWhich is the gate of death, the gate of birth.
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