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BY AN EVOLUTIONIST

Why not bask amid the senses while the sun of morning shines,
I, the finer brute rejoicing in my hounds, and in my stable,
Youth and health, and birth and wealth, and choice of women and of wines?

II.

What hast thou done for me, grim Old Age, save breaking my bones on the rack?

Would I had past in the morning that looks so bright from afar!

Old Age.

Done for thee? starved the wild beast that was linkt with thee eighty years back.
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