Never shall I take my fill
Of hill-delved sky, of sky-spanned hill;
Never be surfeited, never tire
Of stretching churches, of clouds behind a spire.
And could it ever weary me
To watch horizoned ships at sea?
And could I ever stand unstirred
Beneath a sky that lifted up a bird?—
Or unresponsive at the sight
Uf summer trees against the spotted night!
Rather would I wish to be struck blind
Than see a thing without the sky behind.
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