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 Wandering Heaven and Earth and Hell and the four seasons through; Thalia, not you, Not you, Melpomene, Not your incomparable feet, O thin Terpsichore, I seek in this great hall, But one more pale, more pensive, most beloved of you all. I seek her from afar. I come from temples where her altars are, From groves that bear her name, Noisy with stricken victims now and sacrificial flame, And eymbals struck on high and strident faces Obstreperous in her praise