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Percy B.Shelley


Nor happiness, nor majesty, nor fame,

Nor peace, nor strength, nor skill in arms or arts,

Shepherd those herds whom Tyranny makes tame;

Verse echoes not one beating of their hearts;

History is but the shadow of their shame;

Art veils her glass, or from the pageant starts,

As to Oblivion their millions fleet

Staining that Heaven with obscene imagery

Of their own likeness. What are numbers knit

By force or custom?   Man, who man would be,

Must rule the empire of himself;  in it

Must be supreme, establishing his throne

On vanquish'd will, quelling the anarchy

Of hopes and fears, --- being himself alone.


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