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“The thing that hurts and wrings Was never in my heart. It's one of those fair things In life that have no part. Shapes without shape- each shape Seems silently to flit Ere known by grief, and fade Ere love can dream of it. They are as if our grief Were a dark tree from whom They flutter leaf by leaf Into the mist and gloom.” — Fernando Pessoa
The thing that hurts and wrings
Was never in my heart.
It's one of those fair things
In life that have no part.
Shapes without shape- each shape
Seems silently to flit
Ere known by grief, and fade
Ere love can dream of it.
They are as if our grief
Were a dark tree from whom
They flutter leaf by leaf
Into the mist and gloom.