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OWED ON A GRECIAN URN thou, sweet pride of the local pawn shop thou whose presence slows time thence my memory can recall when you were once mine the sunlight of dancing dreams the day clouds of light the night of planets and stars what wine did you bear what oil lacquered your soul are there melodies among this squandered beauty or memories of what may have been of Arcady on the other side of the street, there the trees buds beckon, then bloom and laburnam stakes out a path where flowers and colours neither you nor I could expect are sealed in your clay dance while your sweet form etherializes my eye |