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II.

Yes, I beheld the old accustom'd sight,
Pit, boxes, galleries; I was at “the play;”
I saw uprise the stage's strange floor-day,
And music tuning as in tune's despite;
Childhood I saw, glad-faced, that squeezeth tight
One's hand, while the rapt curtain soars away,—
And beauty and age, and all that piled array—
Thousands of souls drawn to one wise delight.
A noble spectacle!—Noble in mirth—
Nobler in sacred fellowship of tears!
I've often asked myself what sight on earth
Is worth the fancying of our fellow spheres;
And this is one—whole hosts in love with worth,
Judging the shapes of their own hopes and fears.