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by [?]


GOD spare the day when I am satisfied!
Enough is truly likened to a feast that leaves man satiate.
The sluggishness of fulness comes apace; the dulness of a mind that
knows all things.
The lack of every sweet desire; no new sensation for the soul!
To want no more?
What vile estate is that?
What holds the morrow for the soul that’s satisfied?
What holds the future for the mind content?
Is aspiration worthless?
Is much-abused ambition then so vile?
What is the essence of the joy of living?
Must yesterday, to-morrow, and to-day all be the same,
With nothing to be hoped for?
Is not a soul athirst a joyous thing?
Where lies content to him whose eye doth rest on higher things?
What satiation can compare to hope?
Yet who among the satisfied hath need of hope?
What can he hope for if he’s satisfied?
’Tis but conceit, and nothing more, to prate of satisfaction!
God spare the day when I am satisfied!
I do not want the earth,
Yet nothing less will leave me quite content;
And once ’tis mine,
I’m very sure you’ll find me roaming off
After the universe!