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Sixty-Five Sonnets

With Prefatory Remarks on the Accordance of the Sonnet with the Powers of the English Language: Also, A Few Miscellaneous Poems [by Thomas Doubleday]

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 III. 
 IV. 
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 VIII. 
 IX. 
 X. 
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 XIII. 
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 XV. 
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 XXX. 
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 XXXVI. 
 XXXVII. 
 XXXVIII. 
 XXXIX. 
 XL. 
XL.
 XLI. 
 XLII. 
 XLIII. 
 XLIV. 
 XLV. 
 XLVI. 
 XLVII. 
 XLVIII. 
 XLIX. 
 L. 
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 LIV. 
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 LIX. 
 LX. 
 LXI. 
 LXII. 
 LXIII. 
 LXIV. 
 LXV. 
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66

XL.

A drowsy mist hangs heavy on the soul
During her short and mournful sojourn here;
Yet sometimes her dull vision turns so clear
As if a glimpse of future life she stole:
Had e'en our hopes by word or holy scroll
Still unconfirm'd remain'd, need we to fear
But that our race must reach some blissful goal
Which shines beyond the tomb's confinements drear.
Our frames seem heaven-design'd; waked by the touch
Of Fancy's wand in Feeling's high-wrought hour,
Or 'mid wild visions in Sleep's shadowy bower,
Who but hath felt his earth-freed mind was such?
And is it probable, an all-wise Power
Denying more, would ever grant so much?