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O night, And storm, and darkness! ye are wondrous strong, Yet lovely in your strength! .

to thee, O Earth! With all my gifts!—for every flower sweet dew, In bell, and urn, and chalice, to renew The glory of its birth.

Not one which glimmering lies Far amidst folding hills, or forest leaves, But, through its veins of beauty, so receives A spirit of fresh dyes.