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Life For Song


Come Muse, O Muse, so often scorned by me, The hope of sorrow and the balm of care,-- Give to me speech and song, that I may be Unchid by grief; grant me such graces rare As other ministering souls may never see Who boast thy laurel, and thy myrtle wear. I know no joy wherein thou hast not part, My speeding wind, my anchor, and my goal, Come, fair Parnassus, lift thou up my heart; Come, Helicon, renew my thirsty soul. A cypress crown, O Muse, is thine to give, And pain eternal: take this weary frame, Touch me with fire, and this my death shall live On all men's lips and in undying fame.

 

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