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LOVE'S COMRADES
You say I've lived too long in France
And wearied of the senses' dance ?
Like fresh air in an opium den
You'll lead me out — to where ? and when ?
.... I fear no country's ready yet
For our complexities: forget
The best of flesh and food to go
A'roaming o'er the world, and know
Discomfort's great surprises few — ?
No, let me travel just to you !
— 18 —
