You say I’ve lived too long in France
And wearied of the senses’ dance?

Like fresh air in an opium den
You’ll lead me out—to where? and when?

…. I fear no country’s ready yet
For our complexities: forget
The best of flesh and food to go
A’roaming o’er the world, and know
Discomfort’s great surprises few—?
No, let me travel just to you!

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