FATE Delicate omens traced in air To the lone bard true witness bare;
Birds with auguries on their wings Chanted undeceiving things Him to
beckon, him to warn; Well might then the poet scorn To learn of scribe
or courier Hints writ in vaster character; And on his mind, at dawn of
day, Soft shadows of the evening lay. For the prevision is allied
Unto the thing so signified; Or say, the foresight that awaits Is the
same Genius that creates.
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