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Fate


Delicate omens traced in air,
To the lone bard true witness bare;
Birds with auguries on their wings
Chanted undeceiving things,
Him to beckon, Him to warn;
Well might then the poet scorn
To learn of scribe or courier
Hints writ in vaster character;
And on his mind at dawning of day,
For the shadows of the evening lay.
For the prevision is allied
Unto the thing so signifed;
Or say, the foresight that awaits
Is the same Genius that creates.