I.
FRIENDS of faces unknown and a land
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I
"Now give us lands where the olives grow,"
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Unlike are we, unlike, O princely Heart !
Unlike our uses and our destinies.
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TRUE genius, but true woman ! dost deny
The woman's nature with a manly scorn
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Mine is a wayward lay;
And, if its echoing rhymes I try to string,
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Two savings of the Holy Scriptures beat
Like pulses in the Church's brow and breast;
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The soul's Rialto hath its merchandise;
I barter curl for curl upon that mart,
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THOU large-brained woman and large-hearted man,
Self-called George Sand ! whose soul, amid the lions
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I.
Dead ! One of them shot by the sea in the east,
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I lived with visions for my company
Instead of men and women, years ago,
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Thou hast thy calling to some palace-floor,
Most gracious singer of high poems! where
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THE seraph sings before the manifest
God-One, and in the burning of the Seven,
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I think that look of Christ might seem to say--
'Thou Peter ! art thou then a common stone
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Thou comest! all is said without a word.
I sit beneath thy looks, as children do
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" Yes !" I answered you last night ;
" No !" this morning, Sir, I say !
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And yet, because thou overcomest so,
Because thou art more noble and like a king,
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MY future will not copy fair my past
On any leaf but Heaven's. Be fully done,
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Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand
Henceforth in thy shadow. Nevermore
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A heavy heart, Belovèd, have I borne
From year to year until I saw thy face,
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WHAT are we set on earth for ? Say, to toil;
Nor seek to leave thy tending of the vines
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Pardon, oh, pardon, that my soul should make,
Of all that strong divineness which I know
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The Saviour looked on Peter. Ay, no word,
No gesture of reproach; the Heavens serene
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With the same heart, I said, I'll answer thee
As those, when thou shalt call me by my name--
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But only three in all God's universe
Have heard this word thou has said,--Himself, beside
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Yes, call me by my pet-name! let me hear The name I used to run at, when a child,
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My dear Belovèd, who hast lifted me
From this drear flat of earth where I was thrown,
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Accuse me not, beseech thee, that I wear
Too calm and sad a face in front of thine;
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Indeed this very love which is my boast,
And which, when rising up from breast to brow,
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Because thou hast the power and own'st the grace
To look through and behind this mask of me
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Unlike are we, unlike, O princely Heart!
Unlike our uses and our destinies.
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