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O MEMORY, thou fond deceiver, Still importunate and vain, To former joys recurring ever, And turning all the past to pain:
Thou, like the world, th' oppress'd oppressing, Thy smiles increase the wretch's woe: And he who wants each other blessing In thee must ever find a foe.
Oliver Goldsmith
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Read poems about / on: memory, pain, world, joy, smile
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Oliver Goldsmith
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