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pass'd from earth Without his fame,—the calm, pure, starry fame He might have won, to guide on radiantly Full many a noble soul,—he sought it not; And e'en like brief and barren lightning pass'd The wayward child of genius. And the songs Which his wild spirit, in the pride of life, Had shower'd forth recklessly, as ocean-waves Fling up their treasures mingled with dark weed, They died before him;—they were winged seed, Scattered afar, and, falling on the rock Of the world's heart, had perished. One alone, One fervent, mournful, supplicating strain,