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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2005-03-18 | [Este texto, tienes que leerlo en romana] | Inscrito en la biblioteca por Antal Adrian
Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck;
And yet methinks I have astronomy, But not to tell of good or evil luck, Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' quality; Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell, Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind, Or say with princes if it shall go well, By oft predict that I in heaven find: But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive, And, constant stars, in them I read such art As truth and beauty shall together thrive, If from thyself to store thou wouldst convert; Or else of thee this I prognosticate: Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date.
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