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This shining soul beyond life's mummied grip, far past the maul of fact, where thoughts parade.
Our direst yearning and our fondest fears at sport, made safe from time´s iniquity.
We are the tales that soothed your infant brow, the roles you wore for childhood's alley-play.
Did not your, when lust each notion seized, see paper paramour took oft to bed?
When grown to grey responsibility, its disenchantments and diurnal toils, come each day's dissapointed end were we not all thy consolation, thy escape?
Not thou alone, but all humanity doth in its progress fable emulate. Whence came thy rocket-ships and submarines if not from Nautilus, from cavorite?
Your trustiest companions since the cave, we apparitions guided makind's tread, our planet unseen counterpart, as permanent, as ven'rable, as true.
On dreamo's foudation matter's mudyards rest. Two sketching hands, each one the other draws: the fantasies thou've fashiooned fashion thee.
Intangible, we are life's secret soul. Its guiding lantern priniple, ist best. Intarnished by all subterfuge or spies, unshackled from mundane authorities.
Life's certainties erode, yet we endure. Whilst tyrants topple, yet Quixote rides with the companions of the cradle nights in glorious pasture coleridge never glimpsed.
Rejoice! Imagination's quenchless pyre burns on, a beacon to eternity, its triumphs culture's proudest pinnacles when great wars are ingloriously forgot.
Here is our narrative made paradise, brieff tales made glorious continuity. Here champions and lovers are made safe from bowdlerizer's quill, or fad, or fact.
Here are brave banners of romance unfurled to blaze forever in a Blazing World!
Prospero, The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen The Black Dossier
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