I.
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HAT’S that, which, ere I spake, was gone?So joyful and intense a sparkThat, whilst o’erhead the wonder shone,The day, before but dull, grew dark.I do not know; but this I know,That, had the splendour lived a year,The truth that I some heavenly showDid see, could not be now more clear.This know I too: might mortal breathExpress the passion then inspired,Evil would die a natural death,And nothing transient be desired;And error from the soul would pass,And leave the senses pure and strongAs sunbeams. But the best, alas,Has neither memory nor tongue!
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