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One more then, one more strain. In links of joy and pain Mighty the troubled spirit to inthral! And let me breathe my dower Of passion and of power Full into that deep lay—the last of all!

The last!—and I must go       From this bright world below, This realm of sunshine, ringing with sweet sound! Must leave its festal skies, With all their melodies, That ever in my breast glad echoes found!

Yet have I known it long: Too restless and too strong Within this clay hath been th' overmastering flame; Swift thoughts, that came and went, Like torrents o'er me sent, Have shaken, as a reed, my thrilling frame.