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Oh for a muse of ice to turn away,
to cast aside the trumpeting of men:
let there be naught but silence and contempt
before the savage roar of grasping pride.

Let all their aspirations turn to dust,
and all their hope of glory fade away;
no single laurel thrown, or song be sung –
all save for one, a judgment rendered thus:

“Your time is past, and done, now fade to black,
For now it ends, and now you are forgot.”

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