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We must pass like smoke or live within the spirit's fire;

For we can no more than smoke unto the flame return

If our thought has changed to dream, or will unto desire,

As smoke we vanish though the fire may burn.

Lights of infinite pity star the grey dusk of our days:

Surely here is soul: with it we have eternal breadth:

In the fire of love we live, or pass by many ways,

But unnumbered ways of dream to death.