Thou can'st not say I did it; never shake Thy gory locks at me.
Though taste, though genius bless To some divine excess, Faints the cold work till thou inspire the whole; What each, what all supply May court, may charm our eye, Thou, only thou can'st raise the meeting soul!william collins
Alternate translation: Two gates the silent courts of sleep adorn, That of pale ivory, this of lucid horn. Through this, true visions take their airy way, Through that, false phantoms mount the realms of day. Book VII If Heav'n thou can'st not bend, Hell thou shalt move.
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