Lost Echo sits amid the voiceless mountains,And feeds her grief.
The more we study, we the more discover our ignorance.
Poetry is the record of the best and happiest moments of the happiest and best minds.
The soul of Adonais, like a star, Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are.
O that my spirit were yon heaven of night,Which gazes on thee with its thousand eyes.
Many faint with toil,That few may know the cares and woe of sloth.
And more than echoes talk along the walls.
The melancholy ghosts of dead renown,Whispering faint echoes of the world's applause.
Mysterious haunts of echoes old and far,The voice divine of human loyalty.
I heard * * ** * * the great echo flapAnd buffet round the hills from bluff to bluff.
Even Echo speaks not on these radiant moors.
Echo waits with art and careAnd will the faults of song repair.
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