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Nature
withheld Cassandra in the skies,
For more adornment, a full thousand years;
She took their cream of Beauty, fairest dyes,
And shaped and tinted her above all peers:
Meanwhile Love kept her dearly with his wings,
And underneath their shadow filled her eyes
With
such a richness that the cloudy kings
Of high Olympus uttered slavish sighs.
When from the Heavens I saw her first descend,
My heart took fire, and only burning pains...
They were my pleasures, they my Life's sad end;
Love poured her beauty into my warm veins...
John
Keats (1818)
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