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 I. 
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V.

I was ashamed when some one said to me,
‘How blue those mountains are, that cloud how fair’—
I could have praised them first: but could not dare
To mix false words with joy so pure and free.
And when they said, ‘Behold that shining sea!’
I wept beneath my long and veiling hair;
Stung by the rapture which I could not share,
Long, long I wept, and unrestrainedly.
Stranger! if thou canst help me, help me now.
Beauty I saw of old where'er I gazed:
But now, like one by light too brilliant dazed,
To me the loveliest things look blank and grey.
A cloud is on my breast, and on my brow—
Abashed I turn from fairest shapes away.