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What we see, we see
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Think of all the poetry
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What name is there for the color that arouses
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But it is shrouded, veiled: We must have made some ghastly error.
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It hangs from heaven to earth.
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sinewy ghost of ash and air, going
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The word remember touches my hand,
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And spirited from sleep, the astounded soul
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The balls rise like planets
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O moon, o singing fountain,