One word is too often profanedFor me to profane it,One feeling too falsely disdain'dFor thee to disdain it.One hope too like dispairFor prudence to smother,I can give not what men call love:But wilt thou accept notThe worship the heart lifts aboveAnd heaven rejects not:The desire of the moth for the star,The devotion of something afarFrom the sphere of our sorrow?
-Percy Bysshe Shelley
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