As another week concludes, we end with a random poem. Famous poets, obscure poets, amateur poets, whatever poets--just a poem to cap off the week.
Like this one:
To His Mistress, by Torquato Tasso
FAR from thy dearest self, the scope
Of all my aims,
I waste in secret flames;
And only live because I hope.
O when will Fate restore
The joys, in whose bright fire
My expectation shall expire,
That I may live because I hope no more!
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