It is great to get praise from the lips of taciturnity.
These things shall be! A loftier race Than e'er the world hath known shall rise, With flame of freedom in their souls, And light of knowledge in their eyes.
No seed shall perish which the soul hath sown.
Straight is the way to Acheron,
Whether the spirit's race is run
From Athens or from Meroe:
Weep not, far from home to die;
The wind doth blow in every sky
That wafts us to that doleful sea.
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