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Poem by James Thomson
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THE fire that filled my heart of old Gave luster while it burned; Now only ashes gray and cold Are in its silence urned. Ah! better was the furious flame, The splendor with the smart; I never cared for the singer's fame But, oh! for the singer's heart Once more-- The burning fulgent heart! No love, no hate, no hope, no fear, No anguish and no mirth; Thus life extends from year to year, A flat of sullen dearth. Ah! life's blood creepeth cold and tame, Life's thought plays no new part; I never cared for the singer's fame, But, oh! for the singer's heart Once more-- The bleeding passionate heart!
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