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ΤΟ

Thine eyes, in Heaven of heart enshrined,

Then desolately fall,

O God! on my funereal mind

Like starlight on a pall—

Thy heart-thy heart!-I wake and sigh,

And sleep to dream till day

Of the truth that gold can never buy—

Of the baubles that it may.

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What though that light, thro' storm and night,

So trembled from afar

What could there be more purely bright

In Truth's day-star?

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