26 lines
1.0 KiB
Plaintext
26 lines
1.0 KiB
Plaintext
1847
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TO M.L.S.
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by Edgar Allan Poe
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Of all who hail thy presence as the morning-
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Of all to whom thine absence is the night-
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The blotting utterly from out high heaven
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The sacred sun- of all who, weeping, bless thee
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Hourly for hope- for life- ah! above all,
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For the resurrection of deep-buried faith
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In Truth- in Virtue- in Humanity-
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Of all who, on Despair's unhallowed bed
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Lying down to die, have suddenly arisen
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At thy soft-murmured words, "Let there be light!"
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At the soft-murmured words that were fulfilled
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In the seraphic glancing of thine eyes-
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Of all who owe thee most- whose gratitude
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Nearest resembles worship- oh, remember
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The truest- the most fervently devoted,
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And think that these weak lines are written by him-
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By him who, as he pens them, thrills to think
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His spirit is communing with an angel's.
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-THE END-
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