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a falling stone

in a world of glass


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"Conviene reír sin esperar a ser dichoso, no sea que nos sorprenda la muerte sin haber reído".
(Jean de la Bruyère)

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Pleasure led the jocund rear,
Smiling arch with wanton leer;
Poppies crown'd her raven hair
Which wanton'd o'er her shoulders fair;
Ringlets 'twin'd her vaulted brow,
And sought to hide her breast of snow;
Seduction lurk'd in every sigh,
And fascination in her eye.
Beauty blush'd, her gaze withdrew,
Nor durst the shameless syren view.
Her right hand held a blooming wreath,
But many thorns were hid beneath;
"The triumph of pleasure"