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BEAR THOU MY POEMS UPWARD
  
  
  
  
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82

BEAR THOU MY POEMS UPWARD

Bear thou my poems upward: if on earth
Few sympathise, yet fewer understand,
Gift me with laurels from another land,
Crown me with crowns of sweeter nobler worth.
Oh take my labour, Gertrude, in thy hand,
And bear it upward through the silent night
Towards love's own unapproachable clear light:
The utmost heavens part at thy command!
Take thou my singing through the golden gates,
Unclose all barriers, yea unbar the tomb,
Let thy white pinions shine athwart death's gloom.
My spirit pauses not, nor hesitates
At death or sorrow, labour or the fray;
Lift me beyond life's night-time into day.