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When I cannot make
my world come true ,
then,
unto an untrue world I flee ;
Where
beyond the gates of yester-years,
I mingle with the names
that have long since disappeared :
The statesmen , soldiers , poets ,
The philosophers and the explorers,
The kings ,
and their Queens of rare charms ;
I discourse with them all
sharing their hopes and fears ;
When I dwell upon their glories,
this world around me
appears so distastefully dull,
this lonely life's labour sans love
so utterly meaningless ;
That I wish
I were born
A child of bygone years.
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20 Mar 1959
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