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The Leaders Of The Crowd

 They must to keep their certainty accuse
All that are different of a base intent;
Pull down established honour; hawk for news
Whatever their loose fantasy invent
And murmur it with bated breath, as though
The abounding gutter had been Helicon
Or calumny a song.
How can they know Truth flourishes where the student's lamp has shone, And there alone, that have no Solitude? So the crowd come they care not what may come.
They have loud music, hope every day renewed And heartier loves; that lamp is from the tomb.

Poem by William Butler Yeats
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