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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 [[end page]] [[start page]] May 7