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29 Callisto Cynosure of all eyes, did he rise in a hood of bees and throw off his otherness? It is useless to question the gods in their old circuity, but tell me, starry warriors, lusty swaggerers, and I will suffer your stale exhalations of ether, I will rise to darkness— the poplars, that youth in the distance— tell me, what have they done with my son. ...

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