My Head, My Head! O how I lie! Upon a bookshelf, should I find but bunch of garbled junk? I check all through, till dusk— for you, to not but bat fowl eyes. I punish, so punitively, but only repeat what so many before ne’er could defeat! For what is new? To say, this chair— that wasn’t the same as yesterday’s?! Yet with what I still claim to own, I sit right down, and change my tune— to my lecturer’s fumbled drone: I know, I nod, I jot but what for at all alas forgot err lost?
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