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But, my pupil, as my pupil you have learnt the worth of scorn;

You have laughed with me at pity, we have joyed to be forlorn;

What, for us, are all distractions of men's fellowship and smiles?

What, for us, the goddess Pleasure, with her meretricious wiles?

You may tell that German college that their honour comes too late.

But they must not waste repentance on the grizzly savant's fate;

Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light;

I have loved the stars too truly to be fearful of the night.

What, my boy, you are not weeping? You should save your eyes for sight;

You will need them, mine observer, yet for many another night.

I leave none but you, my pupil, unto whom my plans are known.

You "have none but me," you murmur, and I "leave you quite alone"?