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422 But hath some heinous freckle of the flesh Upon his shining cheek, not one but winks His ray, opaqued with intermittent mist Of defect; yea, you masters all must ask Some sweet forgiveness, which we leap to give, We lovers of you, heavenly-glad to meet Your largess so with love, and interplight Your geniuses with our mortalities. . . . But Thee, but Thee, O sovereign Seer of time, But Thee, O poet s Poet, Wisdom s Tongue, But Thee, O man s best Man, O love s best Love, O perfect life in perfect labor writ, O all men s Comrade, Servant, King, or Priest, What if or _&amp;gt; &amp;lt;?/, what mole, what flaw, what lapse, What least defect or shadow of defect, What rumor, tattled by an enemy, Of inference loose, what lack of grace Even in torture s grasp, or sleep s, or death s, Oh, what amiss may I forgive in Thee, Jesus, good Paragon, thou Crystal Christ t

SUNRISE 1

In my sleep I was fain of their fellowship, fain Of the live-oak, the marsh, and the main. The little green leaves would not let me alone in my sleep; Up breathed from the marshes, a message of range and of sweep, Interwoven with waftures of wild sea-liberties, drifting, Came through the lapped leaves sifting, sifting, Came to the gates of sleep. 1 First published in the Independent, December 14, 1882, from which it is here taken,