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He lifts his head — and sees the ass
Yet standing in the clear moonshine.
»When shall I be as good as thou?
Oh! would, poor beast, that I had now
A heart but half as good as thine».
Though absent long
These forms of beauty have not been to me,
As is a landscape to a blind man’s eye:
But oft, in lonely rooms, and mid the din
Of towns and cities, I have owed to them,
In hours of waariness, sensations sweet,
Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart,
And passing even into my purer mind
With tranquil restoration — — — —
— — — — — — — — — — — — —
For I have learned
To look on nature, not as in the hour
Of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes
The still, sad music of humanity,
Nor harsh, nor grating, though of ample power
To chasten and subdue.
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