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The private playwright provides A life that will never be. Direction by veiled darkness; A production for one to see. For there is a world No place for a blossomed child, Where virtue runs still but deep, And inhibitions run wild. Beauty needn't bare confidence, For fear of taken conceit; By knowing the painter's pallet, The brightest fade when colors meet. Never to know another lover, The perpetual virtuous virgin; The nocturnal performance begins With the closing of the curtains.
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