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Ó¢ÎÄÔ­Ê«XVI
The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon
Turns Ashes - or it prospers; and anon,
Like Snow upon the Desert's dusty Face
Lighting a little Hour or two - is gone.

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Ó¢ÎÄÔ­Ê«XVII
Think, in this batter'd Caravanserai
Whose Portals are alternate Night and Day,
How Sultan after Sultan with his Pomp
Abode his destined Hour, and went his way.

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Ó¢ÎÄÔ­Ê«XVIII
They say the Lion and the Lizard keep
The courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep:
And Bahram, that great Hunter--the Wild Ass
Stamps o'er his Head, but cannot break his Sleep.

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Ó¢ÎÄÔ­Ê«XIX
I sometimes think that never blows so red
The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled;
That every Hyacinth the Garden wears
Dropt in her Lap from some once lovely Head.

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Ó¢ÎÄÔ­Ê«XX
And this reviving Herb whose tender Green
Fledges the River-Lip on which we lean -
Ah, lean upon it lightly; for who knows
From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen!

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Ó¢ÎÄÔ­Ê«XXI
Ah, my Belov¨¦d, fill the Cup that clears
To-day of past Regrets and future Fears -
To-morrow? - Why, To-morrow I may be
Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n Thousand Years.

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Ó¢ÎÄÔ­Ê«XXII
For some we loved, the loveliest and the best
That from his Vintage rolling Time hath prest,
Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before,
And one by one crept silently to Rest.

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Ó¢ÎÄÔ­Ê«XXIII
And we, that now make merry in the Room
They left, and Summer dresses in new Bloom,
Ourselves must we beneath the couch of Earth
Descend, ourselves to make a couch - for whom?

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Ó¢ÎÄÔ­Ê«XXIV
Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend,
Before we too into the Dust descend;
Dust into Dust, and under Dust, to lie,
Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and - sans End!

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Ó¢ÎÄÔ­Ê«XXV
Alike for those who for To-day prepare,
And those that after some To-morrow stare,
A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries
"Fools! your Reward is neither Here norThere!"

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Ó¢ÎÄÔ­Ê«XXVI
Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss'd
Of the Two Worlds so wisely - they are thrust
Like foolish Prophets forth; their words to scorn
Are scatter'd, and their Mouths are stopt with Dust.
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Ó¢ÎÄÔ­Ê«XXVII
Myself when young did eagerly frequent
Doctor and Saint, and heard great Argument
About it and about: but evermore
Came out by the same door where in I went.

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Ó¢ÎÄÔ­Ê«XXVIII
With them the seed of Wisdom did I sow,
And with mine own hand wrought to make it grow;
And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd-
"I came like Water, and like Wind I go."

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Ó¢ÎÄÔ­Ê«XXIX
Into this Universe, and Why not knowing,
Nor Whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing:
And out of it, as Wind along the Waste,
I know not Whiter willy-nilly blowing.

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Ó¢ÎÄÔ­Ê«XXX
What, without asking, hither hurried Whence?
And, without asking, Whither hurried hence!
Oh, many a Cup of this forbidden Wine
Must drown the memory of that insolence!

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Ó¢ÎÄÔ­Ê«XXXI
Up from Earth's Centre through the Seventh Gate
I rose, and on the Throne of Saturn sate,
And many a Knot unravel'd by the Road;
But not the Master-knot of Human Fate.

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Ó¢ÎÄÔ­Ê«XXXII
There was the door to which I found no Key;
There was the Veil through which I might not see:
Some little Talk awhile of Me and Thee
There was - and then no more of Thee and Me.

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Ó¢ÎÄÔ­Ê«XXXIII
Earth could not answer; nor the Seas that mourn
In flowing Purple, of their Lord forlorn;
Nor rolling Heaven, with all his Signs reveal'd
And hidden by the sleeve of Night and Morn.

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Ó¢ÎÄÔ­Ê«XXXIV
Then of the Thee in Me who works behind
The Veil, I lifted up my hands to find
A Lamp amid the Darkness; and I heard,
As from Without - "The Me within Theeblind!"

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Ó¢ÎÄÔ­Ê«XXXV
Then to the lip of this poor earthen Urn
I lean'd, the Secret of my Life to learn:
And Lip to Lip it murmur'd - "While you live
Drink! - for once dead you never shall return."

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Ó¢ÎÄÔ­Ê«XXXVI
I think the Vessel, that with fugitive
Articulation answer'd, once did live,
And drink; and Ah! the passive Lip I kiss'd,
How many Kisses might it take - and give!

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Ó¢ÎÄÔ­Ê«XXXVII
For I remember stopping by the way
To watch a Potter thumping his wet Clay:
And with its all-obliterated Tongue
It murmur'd - "Gently, Brother, gently,pray!"

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Ó¢ÎÄÔ­Ê«XXXVIII
And has not such a Story from of Old
Down Man's successive generations roll'd
Of such a clod of saturated Earth
Cast by the Maker into Human mould?

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Ó¢ÎÄÔ­Ê«XXXVIII
And not a drop that from our Cups we throw
For Earth to drink of, but may steal below
To quench the fire of Anguish in some Eye
There hidden - far beneath, and long ago.

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Ó¢ÎÄÔ­Ê«XL
As then the Tulip for her morning sup
Of Heav'nly Vintage from the soil looks up,
Do you devoutly do the like, till Heav'n
To Earth invert you - like an empty Cup.

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