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"The Southern Transept,hardly known by any other name but Poet's Corner."
DEAN STANLEY. TREAD softly here; the sacredest of tombs Are those that hold your Poets. Kings and queens Are facile accidents of Time and Chance. Chance sets them on the heights, they climb not there! But he who from the darkling mass of men Is on the wing of heavenly thought upborne To finer ether, and becomes a voice For all the voiceless, God anointed him: His name shall be a star, his grave a shrine1. Tread softly here, in silent reverence2 tread. Beneath those marble cenotaphs and urns3 Lies richer dust than ever nature hid Packed in the mountain's adamantine heart, Or slyly wrapt in unsuspected sand—— The dross4 men toil5 for, and oft stain the soul. How vain and all ignoble6 seems that greed To him who stands in this dim claustral air With these most sacred ashes at his feet! This dust was Chaucer, Spenser, Dryden this—— The spark that once illumed it lingers still. O ever-hallowed spot of English earth! If the unleashed7 and happy spirit of man Have option to revisit our dull globe, What august Shades at midnight here convene8 In the miraculous9 sessions of the moon, When the great pulse of London faintly throbs10, And one by one the stars in heaven pale! 点击收听单词发音
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