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First Line: Not in the crystal air of a greek glen


Not in the crystal air of a Greek glen,


Not in the houses of imperial Rome,
Not in the crystal air of a Greek glen,
Lived he, who wore this beauty among men:
No classic city was his ancient home.
Not in the houses of imperial Rome,
What happy country claims his fair youth then,
Lived he, who wore this beauty among men:
No classic city was his ancient home.
Her pride? and what his fortunate lineage?
What happy country claims his fair youth then,
Here is no common man of every day,
Her pride? and what his fortunate lineage?
This man, whose full and gleaming eyes assuage
Here is no common man of every day,
Never their longing, be that what it may:
This man, whose full and gleaming eyes assuage
Of dreamland only he is citizen,
Beyond the flying of the last sea's foam.
Never their longing, be that what it may:
Set him beneath the Athenian olive trees,
Of dreamland only he is citizen,
Beyond the flying of the last sea's foam.
To speak with Marathonians: or to task
The wise serenity of Socrates;
Set him beneath the Athenian olive trees,
To speak with Marathonians: or to task
Asking, what other men dare never ask.
The wise serenity of Socrates;
Love of his country and his gods? Not these
Asking, what other men dare never ask.
The master thoughts, that comfort his strange heart,
When life grows difficult, and the lights dim:
Love of his country and his gods? Not these
In him is no simplicity, but art
The master thoughts, that comfort his strange heart,
Is all in all, for life and death, to him:
When life grows difficult, and the lights dim:
And whoso looks upon that fair face, sees
In him is no simplicity, but art
No nature there: only a magic mask.
Is all in all, for life and death, to him:
Or set this man beside the Roman lords,
And whoso looks upon that fair face, sees
To vote upon the fate of Catiline;
No nature there: only a magic mask.
Or in a battle of stout Roman swords,
Or set this man beside the Roman lords,
Where strength and virtue were one thing divine:
To vote upon the fate of Catiline;
Or bind him to the cross with Punic cords.
Or in a battle of stout Roman swords,
Think you, this unknown and mysterious man
Where strength and virtue were one thing divine:
Had played the Roman, with that wistful smile,
Or bind him to the cross with Punic cords.
Those looks not moulded on a Roman plan,
Think you, this unknown and mysterious man
But full of witcheries and secret guile?
Had played the Roman, with that wistful smile,
Think you, those lips had framed true Roman words,
Those looks not moulded on a Roman plan,
Whose very curves have something Sibylline?
But full of witcheries and secret guile?
Thou wouldst but laugh, were one to question thee:
Think you, those lips had framed true Roman words,
Whose very curves have something Sibylline?
Laugh with malign, bright eyes, and curious joy.
Thou wouldst but laugh, were one to question thee:
Thou'rt fallen in love with thine own mystery!
And yet thou art no Sibyl, but a boy.
Laugh with malign, bright eyes, and curious joy.
What wondrous land within the unvoyaged sea
Thou'rt fallen in love with thine own mystery!
Haunts then thy thoughts, thy memories, thy dreams?
And yet thou art no Sibyl, but a boy.
Nay! be my friend; and share with me thy past:
What wondrous land within the unvoyaged sea
If haply I may catch enchaunting gleams,
Haunts then thy thoughts, thy memories, thy dreams?
Catch marvellous music, while our friendship last:
Nay! be my friend; and share with me thy past:
Tell me thy visions: though their true home be
If haply I may catch enchaunting gleams,
Some land, that was a legend in old Troy.
Catch marvellous music, while our friendship last:

Tell me thy visions: though their true home be

Some land, that was a legend in old Troy.






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