We look before and after
And pine for what is not
Our sincerest laughter
With some pain is fraught
Yet if we could scorn
Hate, pride, and fear
If we were things born
Not to shed a tear
Better than all measures
Of delightful sound,
Better than all treasures
That in books are found
Teach me half the gladness
That thy brain must know
Such harmonious madness
From my lips would flow
the world should listen then, as I am listening now
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