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His pencil called to life. But as his thoughts Took wider range, he languished to behold More of a world he thought must be so fair, So filled with glorious shapes. It chanced that he Whose hand had traced that pale sad loveliness, Came to the convent; with rejoicing wonder He marked how like an unknown mine, whose gold Gathers in silence, had young Guido's mind Increased in lonely richness; every day New veins of splendid thought sprang into life. And Guido left his convent cell with one Who, like a geni, bore him into scenes Of marvel and enchantment. And then first Did Guido feel how very precious praise Is to young genius, like sunlight on flowers, Ripening them into fruit. And time pass'd on;—