Such beauteous tones to these, as needs must take
Men’s hearts their captives to the end of time,
So that who hath not the choice gift of words
Takes these into his soul, as welcome friends,
To make sweet music of his joys and woes,
And be all Beauty’s swift interpreter,
Links of bright gold ’twixt Nature and his heart
This is the errand high of Poesy.
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They tell us that our land was made for song,