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246

“I gave a sweet smell.”

Saints are like roses when they flush rarest,
Saints are like lilies when they bloom fairest,
Saints are like violets sweetest of their kind:
Bear in mind
This today. Then tomorrow:
All like roses rarer than the rarest,
All like lilies fairer than the fairest,
All like violets sweeter than we know.
Be it so.
Tomorrow blots out sorrow.