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1247

To pile like Thunder to its close
Then crumble grand away
While Everything created hid
This—would be Poetry—

Or Love—the two coeval come—
We both and neither prove—
Experience either and consume—
For None see God and live—

Edited by Peter Carter

Added: 2 Apr 2003 | Last Read: 7 Jun 2025 5:48 PM | Viewed: 7737 times

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