The angels look'd up into God's own eyes,
As He shut the gateways of Paradise;
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"Roma! Roma! Roma!
Non č pių come era prima!"
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J'aime Monsieur Francois Rabelais, that
Rough, shoulder-shrugging, laughing Frenchman,
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A tender light, when I look back,
Is all that I can see
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I sat by night and read the Book,
Till doubt was mingled with my look,
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"In Eden every flower is blown. Amen."—
His own epitaph
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Each in his narrow cell forever laid,
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.—
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Roses fade, and why not you?
Mary, in whose eyes we view
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The wings of the dear old past, Annie,
Are falling over me,
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Did ye see the Bowgie man
Stan'in' at the door?
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Blind Matthew, coming down the village street
With slow, sure footsteps, pauses for a while,
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Lying full-length upon the summer grass,
And by the murmur of a summer stream,
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Ay, give me the beat of his fire-fed breast,
And the shake of his giant frame,
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'I want my child,' the mother said, as through
The deep sweet air of purple-breathing morn
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While the breezes come and creep--
And what mortal would not sleep
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That was Nottman waving at me,
But the steam fell down, so you could not see;
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Come forth, and bring with thee a mind
That rises to the poet's mood;
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Have you so forgot the time, dear love,
When we sat by the stream in the wood
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He came from a land whose shadows
Were brighter than our day;
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The sunlight fell through the shadowy trees
In smiles all soft and sweet,
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The first sweet wind of the summer
Is breathing upon my cheek,
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As soft as an autumn leaf will light
When the winds are hush'd and still,
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I open again the garden door,
When the flowers live their little time,
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O! just to see you again, Annie,
To walk with your hand in mine;
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He sleeps; the inner agony hath pass'd
With the sure dawn that slowly climbs the east;
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The splendid demon with the lurid eyes,
Wherein, as when a serpent bites its coil
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A Faust in colours with the good and ill
For ever at their conflict, dumb of speech,
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He kneels, his knee drawn down to kindred dust,
For all is earth within him, from those eyes
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Above him, yet he sees him not, there bends
Compassion and Divinity in one,
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Thou gazest and the picture fades away
Like visions after sleep. But unto thee
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