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If there were such a thing as a lie
That gave joy, which, even wavering,
Never snapped back as pain,

Wouldn't that lie be finer than most
If not all of truth? I believe I have
Found a silly philosopher possessed

Of such a sweet lie. I won't name
Him or his foolish philosophy.
I'm still too vain. But I have found

A curious pattern: that listening
To his nonsense nudges me to joy,
And, although I lose it, it never hurts.