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The book of the dead | ||
154
[LXXIV. Were beauty nearer the divine]
Were beauty nearer the divine
Than beauty is, its power were vain
To move this steadfast heart of mine
Beyond the line of faint disdain.
Than beauty is, its power were vain
To move this steadfast heart of mine
Beyond the line of faint disdain.
Who wins my heart, must find the way
A purer love has grandly trod,—
Must track it towards the fount of day,
Sheer upward to the feet of God.
A purer love has grandly trod,—
Must track it towards the fount of day,
Sheer upward to the feet of God.
O loving heart, serenely bold,
The way is plain, but hard to tread;
It lies through regions, vast and cold,
Between the living and the dead!
The way is plain, but hard to tread;
It lies through regions, vast and cold,
Between the living and the dead!
Come hither, at the twilight hour,
Beneath this pine-tree's solemn gloom!
Pluck, as a spell, a grave-side flower,
And I shall greet thee from the tomb!
Beneath this pine-tree's solemn gloom!
Pluck, as a spell, a grave-side flower,
And I shall greet thee from the tomb!
The book of the dead | ||