Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven,
If in your bright leaves we could read the fate
Of men and empires-'tis to be forgiven
That, in our aspirations to be great,
Our destinies o'erleap their mortal state
And claim a kindred with you: for ye are
A beauty and a mystery, and create
In us such love and reverence from afar,
That fortune, fame, power, life have named
Themselves a star.
Byron
About Me
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