Midway this way of life we're bound
upon,
I woke to find myself in a dark wood,
Where the right road was wholly lost and gone. Ay me! How hard to speak of it that rude
And rough and stubborn forest! The mere breath
Of memory stirs the old fear in the blood;
It is so bitter, it goes nigh to death;
Yet there I gained such good, that, to convey
The tale, I'll write what else I found therewith . . . .
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