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C.D. Warner, et al., comp.  The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes.  1917.
 
Sonnet: On Seeing the Elgin Marbles
By John Keats (1795–1821)
 
MY spirit is too weak: mortality
  Weighs heavily on me like unwilling sleep;
  And each imagined pinnacle and steep
Of godlike hardship, tells me I must die,
Like a sick eagle looking at the sky.        5
  Yet ’tis a gentle luxury to weep
  That I have not the cloudy winds to keep,
Fresh for the opening of the morning’s eye.
Such dim-conceivèd glories of the brain
  Bring round the heart an undescribable feud;        10
So do these wonders a most dizzy pain,
  That mingles Grecian grandeur with the rude
Wasting of old Time—with a billowy main—
  A sun—a shadow of a magnitude.
 
 
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