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The eyes of the portraits on the wall
  Look at me, follow me,
  Stare incessantly:
  I take it their glance means nothing at all?
  --Clearly, oh clearly! Nothing at all ...

  Out in the gardens by the lake
  The sleeping peacocks suddenly wake;
  Out in the gardens, moonlit and forlorn,
  Each of them sounds his mournful horn:
  Shrill peals that waver and crack and break.
  What can have made the peacocks wake?

© Aldous Huxley