No Man can compass a Despair—
As round a Goalless Road
No faster than a Mile at once
The Traveller proceed—
Unconscious of the Width—
Unconscious that the Sun
Be setting on His progress—
So accurate the One
At estimating Pain—
Whose own—has just begun—
His ignorance—the Angel
That pilot Him along—
As round a Goalless Road
No faster than a Mile at once
The Traveller proceed—
Unconscious of the Width—
Unconscious that the Sun
Be setting on His progress—
So accurate the One
At estimating Pain—
Whose own—has just begun—
His ignorance—the Angel
That pilot Him along—
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