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Swan Song

Rating: 2.8

We are not sure of sorrow,
And joy was never sure;
To-day will die tomorrow;
Time stoops to no man’s lure;
And love grown faint and fretful,
With lips but half regretful
Sighs, and with eyes forgetful
Weeps that no loves endure.

From too much love of living,

From hope and fear set free,
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COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Mike 04 August 2021

He finally found a cure for his disease. He picked up the book and read the stanza slowly aloud: From hope and fear set free... Swinburne provided him with a key. Life is sick, or rather has become sick - something unbearable. Jack Londom / Martin Eden

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