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The very thorn in my mind be gone, not For its return- I've lost my mind....
And now the thoughts return, bidding me not go For they would spell my death, or death would spell me, I can't say, but these thoughts crisscross in mixed confused jumblesAnd Im still at the beginning. Fear grips me tightly to its tyrannical rule, And Im humble servant to it; That which I fear has come upon me, And I have no ruling....
That I would make up my mind is no matter But that it would remain made as it is. Nevertheless for the joys that I seek, I strive To keep it so, but its strength is more. O that I was stronger, or that I knew where strength lay....