46 He who has lived as thinking being Within his soul must hold men small; He who can feel is always fleeing The ghost of days beyond recall; For him enchantment’s deep infection Is gone; the snake of recollection And grim repentance gnaws his heart. All this, of course, can help impart Great charm to private conversation; And though the language of my friend At first disturbed me, in the end I liked his caustic disputation— His blend of banter and of bile, His sombre wit and biting style.
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