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Yet he went at last, when he longed to stay.
And late or soon, all go:
Wise and simple have no reprieve.
Wine may bring forgetfulness,
But does it not hasten old-age?
If you set your hearts on noble deeds,
How do you know that any will praise you?
By all this thinking you do Me injury:
You had better go where Fate leads —
Drift on the Stream of Infinite Flux,
Without joy; without fear:
When you must go — then go,
And make as little fuss as you can.
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