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- 1847
- TO M.L.S.
- by Edgar Allan Poe
-
- 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.
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- -THE END-
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