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'Joy so o'ercometh me, for stress of joy * In that which gladdeneth me I fain shed tears: Tears are become your nature, O my eyes, * Who weep for joyance as for griefs and fears. And they complained to each other of all their hearts had suffered from the long separation.
It is even as says the poet: Quoth they, "Thou'rt surely mad for him thou lov'st;" and I replied, "Indeed the sweets of life belong unto the raving race. Lo, those who love have not, for that, the upper hand of fate; Only the madman 'tis, I trow, o'ercometh time and space. Yes, I am mad; so bring me him for whom ye say I'm mad; And if he heal my madness, spare to blame me for my case."
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