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Why sleep when I can read?
Insomnia wrapped in gilded leaves,
Silent, but for the sounding swish,
As I deliciously turn and wish:
The story would never end,
The sun would never ascend,
My will would never bend—
To feeble needs of a body.
Why slumber whilst literacy,
Calls upon my eyes to see,
To spy a thought within the thought,
Follow an “is,” and discern an “ought:”
Why ought I to cease,
Why ought I be released,
When piece after piece after piece—
Of love and learning mingle?
Why doze when I can dream,
In far off forest and stream,
Worlds within worlds collide,
Stories within stories coincide:
Experiences out of flesh,
Experiences, weaving, mesh,
Why must I experience less—
By giving into darkness?
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