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The Music of the Spheres
Asclepius, in days when we are young,
The Music of the Spheres we first hear sung!
Through straining then, to listen and to learn,
What revelries of truth one may discern!
But we are not conceived as angels are:
A thousand mindless cares our minds must mar,
Whose troubled tides, through time, turn tyrannous tsar.
‘Tis ever and of needs a sorrowful grace,
To see a distant beauty, but in trace,
And know it is no work of mortal race.
Copyright ©
Jerrold Prothero
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