Abstract
Why, when this span of life might be fleeted away as laurel, a little darker than all the surrounding green, with tiny waves on the border of every leaf (like the smile of a wind)--oh, why have to be human, and shunning Destiny, long for Destiny? . . . Not because happiness really exists, that premature profit of imminent loss. Not out of curiosity, not just to practise the heart, that could still be there in laurel. ...
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