Sweet, I blame you not, for mine the fault
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was, had I not been made of common clay
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I had climbed the higher heights unclimbed
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yet, seen the fuller air, the larger day.
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From the wildness of my wasted passion I had
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struck a better, clearer song,
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Lit some lighter light of freer freedom, battled
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with some Hydra-headed wrong.
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Had my lips been smitten into music by the
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kisses that but made them bleed,
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You had walked with Bice and the angels on
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that verdant and enamelled mead.
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I had trod the road which Dante treading saw
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the suns of seven circles shine,
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Ay! perchance had seen the heavens opening,
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as they opened to the Florentine.
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And the mighty nations would have crowned
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me, who am crownless now and without name,
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And some orient dawn had found me kneeling
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on the threshold of the House of Fame.
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(Tanıtım Bülteninden)
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