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is a jail, and time grim warder there, Sorrow the bride made young for him each day, Woe and despair serve faithfully his sway, And rue his watcher with unwearied care.

Sweet death, O do not overlong forbear, Thou key, thou portal, thou entrancing way That guideth us from places of dismay Yonder where moulder gnaws the gyves we wear.

Yonder where ranges no pursuing foe, Yonder where we elude their evil plot, Yonder where man is rid of every woe.

Yonder where, bedded in a murky grot, Sleeps, whoso lays him there to sleep below, That the shrill din of griefs awakes him not. 



an Ascension Day I divine. My heart how it surges and simmers, My spirit silkily shimmers, Ag though it had drunk of magical wine.

Mark ye not?—Yonder from forests of gloom, Hurricanes rage, Fierce thunderings boom, 