In Which Being Sick Makes Me Ill
Five Things To Do

Welcome to Its Own Sweet Will...

 Take off your shoes, grab a cuppa, read, & relax.
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Considering that, all hatred driven hence,   
The soul recovers radical innocence   
And learns at last that it is self-delighting,
Self-appeasing, self-affrighting,   
And that its own sweet will is heaven's will,   
She can, though every face should scowl   
And every windy quarter howl   
Or every bellows burst, be happy still.
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