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The voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown: Perhaps the self-same song that found a path Through the sad heart of Ruth, when sick for home, She stood in tears amid the alien corn; The same that oft-times hath Charm'd magic casement, opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn. -John Keats (1795-1821), Ode to a Nightingale |