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Excerpt from Childe Harolde’s Pilgrimage, Byron.

  Could I embody and unbosom now
  That which is most within me,—could I wreak
  My thoughts upon expression, and thus throw
  Soul, heart, mind, passions, feelings, strong or weak,
  All that I would have sought, and all I seek,
  Bear, know, feel, and yet breathe—into one word,
  And that one word were Lightning, I would speak;
  But as it is, I live and die unheard,
  With a most voiceless thought, sheathing it as a sword.

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