He could not be captured,He could not be bought,His running was rhythm,His standing was thought;With one eye on sorrowAnd one eye on mirth,He galloped in heavenAnd gambolled on earth.And only the poetWith wings to his brainCan mount him and ride himWithout any rein,The stallion of heaven,The steed of the skies,The horse of the singerWho sings as he flies.
Farewel, thou cruel world! – to morrowNo more thy scorn my heart shall tear: –The grave will shield the child of sorrow,And heaven will hear the orphan's prayer.matthew lewis
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