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And upwards, through transparent darkness gleaming, Gazed, in mute reverence, woman's earnest eye, Lit, as a vase whence inward light is streaming, With quenchless faith, and deep love's fervency; Gathering, like incense round some dim-veiled shrine, About the Form, so mournfully divine!

Oh! let thine image, as e'en then it rose, Live in my soul for ever, calm and clear, Making itself a temple of repose, Beyond the breath of human hope or fear! A holy place, where through all storms may lie One living beam of day-spring from on high.