Conspires to rob me of 
sweet joy and grace. 
And if the sign may not be fully read, 
If I can comprehend but not control, 
I need not gloom my days 
with futile dread, 
Because I see a part and not the whole. 
Contemplating the strange, I'm comforted 
By this narcotic thought: I know my soul.
Written by Claude McKay (1891-1948)
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