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They seek, but find not anywhere;
The supreme loveliness that lies
In all men’s souls, on all men’s eyes!”

He cried: “There was no rest for me,
I could not bear their mockery;
So, in the sapphire-coloured day,
I passed my lonely antique way
With halcyon feet by seas of rose,
Against whose foam the ilex grows,
To Nyssa, where with golden strings
Bacchus his laden leopard flings.
Crying and drunk with secret dread
Lest joy be disinherited,
Upon the temple-steps they fall,
God, Mænad, Faun, and Bacchanal;
Vases and urns that on their brink
Once lured each loveliness to drink,
Vine-leaves and laurel, ivy, grapes,
Over their still, enamoured shapes—
But in the moonlight, green and cold,
The world seemed suddenly grown old....”

I questioned: “Was it ever young
Save in the songs that men have sung?”

“Listen!” he murmured, “then there came
A remote voice that called a name:

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