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Thou art like a rose that fills the eye,
'Til aught beside fades into nothing, small,
And the trembling pencil doth refuse in measured line
Its palpitating wondrous beauty to confine

30 Apr.
Where is that lovely face
That voice that thrills
Those eyes that promised entrance
Into an unknown world
Enchanted and untrodden
And when at last bliss might be perfected
Also what chain did bind me to myself
That I am here alone, not entered there
But here alone

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May 7