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A visioning that tempts the eye,
But mocks the touch—nonentity;
A rainbow, substanceless as bright,
Flitting for ever
O'er hill-top to more distant height,
Nearing us never;
A bubble, blown by fond conceit,
In very sooth itself to cheat;
The witch-fire of a frenzied brain;
A fortune, that to lose were gain;
A word of praise, perchance of blame;
The wreck of a, time-bandied name,—
Ay, This is Glory!—this is Fame!
