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Look beyond what they seem to be; Then come and say, are they not ripe for me. . I have been over the green earth again; I have heard the voice of sorrow and pain; I saw a shining almond-tree fling Its silver wreath, like a gift, to Spring: At cold breath came from the northern air; The leaves were scatter'd, the boughs were bare. I saw a ship launch'd on the sea,— Queen of the waters she seem'd to be; An hundred voices benizon gave, As she cut her path through the frothing wave. 'Twas midnight—she anchor'd before a town, Over which the sun had gone lingering down, As loath to set upon what was so fair. Now the smiling moon rode on the air,