THE BUBBLE
WHY should I stay? Nor seed nor fruit have I.
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Anonymous—nor needs a name
To tell the secret whence the flame,
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LITTLE masters, hat in hand
Let me in your presence stand,
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EACH wave that breaks upon the strand,
How swift soe’er to spurn the sand
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THE WAVES forever move;
The hills forever rest:
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THEY cannot wholly pass away,
How far soe’er above;
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WE know Thee, each in part—
A portion small;
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ONCE when my heart was passion-free
To learn of things divine,
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In this secluded shrine,
O miracle of grace,
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The winds are wailing, and I cannot sleep;
What would ye, wandering sisters? Free to go
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The loiterers in my shade of old
Themselves are shadows now;
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Was it thy lord the sea
That wrought this tragedy,
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How calm the silent sister of the sea!
No ripple on her ever-moving breast;
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On Pisgah each must stand,
And in a fruitful land
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All the light of heaven
In a single beam
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Wherever thou dost come,
The birds and fountains dumb
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The powers of heaven plant the weed
That man uproots to set his seed:
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"Farewell!" The fading day
Still whispers, "Fare thee well.
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As Faith, a pilgrim, seeks the tomb
Where once in Death's eclipsing gloom
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O tender Mother, blind and dumb,
Who dost to all thy children come
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The light may cleave our kindred shades
And banish us apart,
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How vast the ocean of the dark!
How small the compass of the lark
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Sighed the Book, "I am bound to be read,
But tho' on the shelf others put me
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The winds that once my playmates were
No more my voice responsive hear,
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Little blossom, thou and I
Both were born alike to die.
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The heaven's clean space above it and around
The one expanse whereon no stain can be;
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"Did you restore that mangy sow
You stole from Pat McCarthy?"
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Alas! what shall I do?
I have lost my nearest friend;
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'Tis in the shadows that we trace
The light of Love's remembered face:
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The people read it as they pass:
"On Penalty, keep off the Grass!"
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