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TO MARIE LOUISE (SHEW) 


Of all who hail thy presence as the morning -- Of all to whom thine absence is the night -- The blotting utterly from out high heaven The sacred sun -- of all who, weeping, bless thee Hourly for hope- for life -- ah! above all, For the resurrection of deep-buried faith In Truth -- in Virtue -- in Humanity -- Of all who, on Despair's unhallowed bed Lying down to die, have suddenly arisen At thy soft-murmured words, "Let there be light!" At the soft-murmured words that were fulfilled In the seraphic glancing of thine eyes -- Of all who owe thee most -- whose gratitude Nearest resembles worship -- oh, remember The truest -- the most fervently devoted, And think that these weak lines are written by him -- By him who, as he pens them, thrills to think His spirit is communing with an angel's.

1847.

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