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Rudyard Kipling - DoctorsRudyard Kipling - Doctors
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Man dies too soon, beside his works half-planned.  His days are counted and reprieve is vain: Who shall entreat with Death to stay his hand;  Or cloke the shameful nakedness of pain? Send here the bold, the seekers of the way—  The passionless, the unshakable of soul, Who serve the inmost mysteries of man`s clay,  And ask no more than leave to make them whole.
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