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Dark, dark this mind, if ever in vain it rove

The face of man in search of hope and love;

Or, turning inward from earth's sun and moon.

Spin in cold solitude thought's mazed cocoon.

Fresh hang Time's branches. Hollow in space out-cry

The grave-toned trumpets of Eternity.

“World of divine delight” heart whispereth,

Though all its all lie but ’twixt birth and death. 16