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[I. Methinks each noble purpose of man's heart]

Methinks each noble purpose of man's heart,
Declared by his performance, crowns his works
With a becoming spirit, which still lurks
In what he builds, nor will from thence depart,
Though time bestows it on the solitude,
The solitude on Ruin, and her gray,
In moss and lichen honoring decay,
Makes her a refuge where a nobler mood

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Had rear'd a temple to diviner art,
And based its shrines on worship. In the stone
Dismember'd, sits that guardian shape alone,
Twin-being with the precious trust whose birth
Brought down a wandering genius to a throne,
And gave him thence a realm and power on earth.