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Do not sing, thou prairie-bird, my soul! Do not even whisper! Lo hush! The old noontide sleepeth, it moveth its mouth: doth it not just now drink a drop of happiness An old brown drop of golden happiness, golden wine? Something whisketh over it, its happiness laugheth. Thus laugheth a God. Hush! 'For happiness, how little sufficeth for happiness! Thus spake I once and thought myself wise.
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