Art thou pale for weariness
Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth,
Wandering companionless
Among the stars that have a different birth,--
And ever changing, like a joyless eye
That finds no object worth its constancy?

Thou chosen sister of the Spirit,
That grazes on thee till in thee it pities...

— Percy Bysshe Shelley
https://palimpseste.vercel.app/#text/30ecf53a-599f-4714-a9d0-3138a919cf9e
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