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Look for me in the nurseries of Heaven.
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Francis Thompson |
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Thou canst not stir a flower / Without troubling of a star.
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Francis Thompson |
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The innocent moon, that nothing does but shine,Moves all the labouring surges of the world.
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Francis Thompson |
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Short arm needs man to reach to Heaven,So ready is Heaven to stoop to him.
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Francis Thompson |
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I said to Dawn: Be sudden--to Eve: Be soon.
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Francis Thompson |
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The drift of pinions, would we hearken,Beats at our own clay-shuttered doors.
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Francis Thompson |