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![]() The charities that soothe, and heal, and bless Are scattered at the feet of Man, like flowers. |
![]() And lovely is the Rose. |
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![]() The winds that will be howling at all hours, And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers; For this, for everything, we are out of tune. |
![]() The sleep that is among the lonely hills. |
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![]() Of use and custom to bow down the soul Under a growing weight of vulgar sense, And substitute a universe of death For that which moves with light and life informed, Actual, divine, and true. |
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