A concerted burst from the mind in love,
With a job or a notion of duty,
Is what I crave, from below or above,
Heaven or hell grant this power to me:
Two worlds opposed converge in a moment,
And passion of placement ensues in space,
Wherein right and wrong both make atonement,
And I break a sweat as I save (my) face:
Though my face may be cracked, or creased or brown,
And black and blue, and yellow and hateful,
I still love you all, all your culture’s clowns,
And I laugh in knowing truth’s unfaithful:
But it sure is beauty, according to
Keats; It’s all we do and all we need do.

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