12 If I had, Reader, longer space for writing, I would at least sing in part 138 of the sweet draught which never would have sated me; but, because full are all the leaves destined for this second canticle, 141 no farther lets me go the curb of my art. I returned from the most holy wave, reanimate, even as new plants 144 renewed with new foliage, pure and disposed to mount unto the stars.
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