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The Heart asks Pleasure—first— And then—Excuse from Pain—

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How the old mountains drip with sunset, And the brake of dun! How the hemlocks are tipped in tinsel By the wizard sun! How the old steeples hand the scarlet, Till the ball is full, -- Have I the lip of the flamingo That I dare to tell? Then, how the fire ebbs like billows, Touching all the grass With a departing, sapphire feature, As if a duchess pass! How a small dusk crawls on the village Till the houses blot; And the odd flambeaux no men carry Glimmer on the spot! Now it is night in nest and kennel, And where was the wood, Just a dome of abyss is nodding Into solitude! -- These are the visions baffled Guido; Titian never told; Domenichino dropped the pencil, Powerless to unfold.

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If I can stop one Heart from breaking I shall not live in vain If I can ease one Life the Aching, or cool one Pain, Or help one fainting Robin into his Nest again, I shall not live in Vain.

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It has no future but itself— Its infinite contain Its past—enlightened to perceive New periods of pain.

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I heard a Fly buzz—when I died—

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Much Madness is divinest Sense -- to a discerning Eye -- much Sense -- the starkest Madness --

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That it will never come again is what makes life so sweet.

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My friends are my estate

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My life closed twice before its close—

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We turn not older with years, but newer every day

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Proud of my broken heart since thou didst break it, Proud of the pain I did not feel till thee, Proud of my night since thou with moons dost slake it, Not to partake thy passion, my humility.

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This is the Hour of Lead -- Remembered, if outlived, As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow -- First --Chill --then Stupor --then the letting go --.

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There's a certain Slant of light, Winter Afternoons-- That oppresses, like the Heft Of Cathedral Tunes--

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Burglar! Banker—Father! I am poor once more!

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Let us go in; the fog is rising.

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Death is a Dialogue between, The Spirit and the Dust.

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If I can stop one heart from breaking I shall not live in vain If I can ease on Life the Aching Or cool one pain Or help one fainting Robin Unto his Nest again I shall not live in Vain.

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I died for Beauty—but was scarce Adjusted in the Tomb When One who died for Truth, was lain In an adjoining Room—

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I hope you love birds, too. It is economical. It saves going to Heaven.

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I never lost as much but twice, And that was in the sod.

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