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    The intellect of man is forced to choose
    perfection of the life, or of the work,
    And if it take the second must refuse
    A heavenly mansion, raging in the dark
    When all that story's finished, what's the news?
    In luck or out the toil has left its mark:
    That old perplexity an empty purse,
    Or the day's vanity, the night's remorse
    ···
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