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Poem by Mathilde Blind
All treasures of the earth and opulent seas, Metals and odorous woods and cunning gold, Fowls of the air and furry beasts untold, Vineyards and harvest fields and fruitful trees Nature gave unto Man; and last her keys Vouched passage to her secret ways of old Whence knowledge should be wrung, nay power to mould Out of the rough, his occult destinies. But tired of these he craved a wider scope: Then fair as Pallas from the brain of Jove From his deep wish there sprang, full-armed, to cope With all life's ills, even very death in love, The only thing man never wearies of— His own creation—visionary Hope.
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