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 Seek any fetich undivine, Be any superstition's thrall, From Heaven or Hell will come a sign; But thou alone art deaf to all.

THREE DOVES

Seaward, at morn, my doves flew free; At eve they circled back to me. The first was Faith; the second, Hope; The third, the whitest, Charity.

Above the plunging surges play Dream-like they hovered, day by day. At last they turned, and bore to me Green signs of peace thro' nightfall gray,

No shore forlorn, no loveliest land Their gentle eye had left unscanned, 'Mid hues of twilight-heliotrope Or daybreak fires by heaven-breath fanned

Quick visions of celestial grace,— Hither they waft, from earth's broad space, Kind thoughts for all humanity, They shine with radiance from God's face.

Ah, since my heart they choose for home, Why loose them,—forth again to roam? Yet look; they rise with loftier scope They wheel in flight toward Heaven's pure dome.