The Lady of his love was wed with one.

Who did not love better. . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . .

…And this the world calls phrensy, but the wise

Have a far deeper madness, and the glance

Of melancoly is a fearful gift;

What is it but the telescope of truth?

Which strips the distance of its phantasies,

And brings life near in utter nakedness,

Making the cold reality too real!..

(The Dream. Lord Byron).[1]


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