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Beloved! amid the earnest woes
That crowd around my earthly path--
(Drear path, alas! where grows
Not even one lonely rose)--
My soul at least a solace hath
In
dreams of thee, and therein knows
An Eden of bland repose.
And thus thy memory is to me
Like some enchanted
far-off isle
In some tumultuous sea--
Some ocean throbbing
far and free
With storm--but where meanwhile
Serenest skies continually
Just o'er that one bright inland smile.