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where are they now what lands and skies paint pictures in their friendly eyes
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what craft of alchemy can bid defiance to time and change and for a single hour renew this phantom-flower
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it breathes no more its heart has no pulsation in the dark places with the dead of old it lies forever cold
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the wrong shall fail the right prevail with peace on earth good-will to men
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every quivering tongue of flame seems to murmur some great name seems to say to me aspire
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but the night-wind answers hollow are the visions that you follow into darkness sinks your fire
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and i make answer: i am satisfied i dare not ask i know not what is best god hath already said what shall betide
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but fiends and dragons on the gargoyled eaves watch the dead christ between the living thieves and underneath the traitor judas lowers
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o bringer of the light whose splendor shines above the darkness of the apennines forerunner of the day that is to be
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c'en est trop de vos glouglous epargnez aux philosophes vos abominables strophes
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but the statues without breath that stand on the bridge overarching the silent river of death
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now a stranger looking down i behold the shadowy crown of the dark and haunted wood
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o graceful form that cloudlike floatest on with the soft undulating gait of one who moveth as if motion were a pleasure
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hermes much must he toil who serves the immortal gods and i who am their herald most of all
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and thou prometheus say hast thou again been stealing fire from helios' chariot-wheels to light thy furnaces
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they relent not they pardon not they are implacable revengeful unforgiving
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no gift of theirs in whatsoever shape it comes to me with whatsoever charm to fascinate my sense will i receive
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now as an arrow from hyperion's bow my errand done i fly i float i soar into the air returning to olympus
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with one touch of my swift and winged feet i spurn the solid earth and leave it rocking as rocks the bough from which a bird takes wing
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surely thou art a goddess for thy voice is a celestial melody and thy form self-poised as if it floated on the air
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no goddess am i nor of heavenly birth but a mere woman fashioned out of clay and mortal as the rest
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o what a telltale face thou hast again i see the wonder in thy tender eyes
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immersed in the fountain tantalus tastes not the water that wastes not
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yon snow-white cloud that sails sublime in ether is but the sovereign zeus who like a swan flies to fair-ankled leda
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or perchance ixion's cloud the shadowy shape of hera that bore the centaurs
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the pipe of pan out of these reeds is made and when he plays upon it to the shepherds they pity him so mournful is the sound
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assert thyself rise up to thy full height shake from thy soul these dreams effeminate these passions born of indolence and ease
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forbids ah me the secret then is safe
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i hesitate no longer weal or woe or life or death the moment shall decide
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o epimetheus i no longer dare to lift mine eyes to thine nor hear thy voice being no longer worthy of thy love
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my heart hath braved the oracle that guarded the fatal secret from us and my hand lifted the lid of the mysterious chest
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only through punishment of our evil deeds only through suffering are we reconciled to the immortal gods and to ourselves
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never shall souls like these escape the eumenides the daughters dark of acheron and night
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unquenched our torches glare our scourges in the air send forth prophetic sounds before they smite
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are these celestial manners these the ways that win the arts that please
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we are forgotten and in your austere and calm indifference ye little care whether we come or go or whence or where
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honor and reverence and the good repute that follows faithful service as its fruit be unto him whom living we salute
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how beautiful is youth how bright it gleams with its illusions aspirations dreams
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where are the others voices from the deep caverns of darkness answer me: they sleep
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the scholar and the world the endless strife the discord in the harmonies of life
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it is too late ah nothing is too late till the tired heart shall cease to palpitate
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these are indeed exceptions but they show how far the gulf-stream of our youth may flow into the arctic regions of our lives
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what then shall we sit idly down and say the night hath come it is no longer day
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around thee would have swarmed the attic bees homer had been thy friend or socrates and plato welcomed thee to his demesne
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for thee old legends breathed historic breath thou sawest poseidon in the purple sea and in the sunset jason's fleece of gold
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o what hadst thou to do with cruel death who wast so full of life or death with thee that thou shouldst die before thou hadst grown old
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thou hast but taken thy lamp and gone to bed i stay a little longer as one stays to cover up the embers that still burn
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an old man in a lodge within a park the chamber walls depicted all around with portraitures of huntsman hawk and hound
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so in majestic cadence rise and fall the mighty undulations of thy song o sightless bard england's maeonides
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and ever and anon high over all uplifted a ninth wave superb and strong floods all the soul with its melodious seas
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forever and forever shalt thou be to some the gravestone of a dead delight to some the landmark of a new domain
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ah with what subtile meaning did the greek call thee the lesser mystery at the feast whereof the greater mystery is death
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florence adorns me with her jewelry and when i think that michael angelo hath leaned on me i glory in myself
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io mi rammento quando fur cacciati i medici pur quando ghibellino e guelfo fecer pace mi rammento
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fiorenza i suoi giojelli m' ha prestati e quando penso ch' agnolo il divino su me posava insuperbir mi sento
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a simple stone with but a date and name marks his secluded resting-place beside the river that he loved and glorified
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here in the autumn of his days he came but the dry leaves of life were all aflame with tints that brightened and were multiplied
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o thou whose daily life anticipates the life to come and in whose thought and word the spiritual world preponderates
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i stand beneath the tree whose branches shade thy western window chapel of st john
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two kings were they who ruled by right divine and both supreme one in the realm of truth one in the realm of fiction and of song
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what prince hereditary of their line uprising in the strength and flush of youth their glory shall inherit and prolong
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not of the howling dervishes of song who craze the brain with their delirious dance art thou o sweet historian of the heart
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therefore to thee the laurel-leaves belong to thee our love and our allegiance for thy allegiance to the poet's art
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there is a mountain in the distant west that sun-defying in its deep ravines displays a cross of snow upon its side
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such is the cross i wear upon my breast these eighteen years through all the changing scenes and seasons changeless since the day she died
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but the bitterest disgrace is to see forever the face of the monk of ephesus
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the unconquerable will this too can bear i still am belisarius
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as men who think to understand a world by their creator planned who wiser is than they
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thy castle on the crags above in dust shall crumble and decay but not the memory of her love
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and the mountains dark and high from their crags re-echoed the cry of his anger and despair
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such was kyrat's wondrous speed never yet could any steed reach the dust-cloud in his course
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more than maiden more than wife more than gold and next to life roushan the robber loved his horse
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seven hundred and fourscore men at arms his livery wore did his bidding night and day
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now through regions all unknown he was wandering lost alone seeking without guide his way
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o my kyrat o my steed round and slender as a reed carry me this peril through
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satin housings shall be thine shoes of gold o kyrat mine o thou soul of kurroglou
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sir i should build me a fortification if i came to live here boswell's johnson
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his form is the form of a giant but his face wears an aspect of pain can this be the laird of inchkenneth
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they thought the wise men were men insane as they spurred their horses across the plain like riders in haste and who cannot wait
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he has heard in the grave the cries of his people: awake arise
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i say it the white czar batyushka gosudar
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i swear it i the czar batyushka gosudar
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here in thy harbors for a while we lower our sails a while we rest from the unending endless quest
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ah his hand will nevermore turn their storied pages o'er
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traveller in what realms afar in what planet in what star
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poet thou whose latest verse was a garland on thy hearse
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friend but yesterday the bells rang for thee their loud farewells
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who presented to me on my seventy-second birth-day february this chair made from the wood of the village blacksmith's chestnut tree
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his presence haunts this room to-night a form of mingled mist and light from that far coast
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welcome this vacant chair is thine dear guest and ghost
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what phantom is this that appears through the purple mist of the years itself but a mist like these
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a woman of cloud and of fire it is she it is helen of tyre the town in the midst of the seas
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au have vanished but those that moored in the neighboring roadstead sailless at anchor ride looming so large in the mist
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all is so quiet the troubled breast the wounded spirit the heart oppressed here may find the repose it craves
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i wash the sands and headlands with my tide my brow is crowned with branches of the pine before my chariot-wheels the fishes glide
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to lead the year was my appointed place a mortal dispossessed me by a word and set there janus with the double face
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hark the sea-faring wild-fowl loud proclaim my coming and the swarming of the bees
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these are my heralds and behold my name is written in blossoms on the hawthorn-trees
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fair lakes serene and full of light fair town arrayed in robes of white how visionary ye appear
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all like a floating landscape seems in cloud-land or the land of dreams bathed in a golden atmosphere
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