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364

[The Palace of Art]

[Lines not used in the final version.]

One was the Tishbite whom the raven fed,
As when he stood on Carmel-steeps,
With one arm stretch'd out bare, and mock'd and said,
“Come, cry aloud—he sleeps.”
Tall, eager, lean and strong, his cloak windborne
Behind, his forehead heavenly bright
From the clear marble pouring glorious scorn,
Lit as with inner light.