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We love but while we may; And therefore is my love so large for thee, Seeing it is not bounded save by love.
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Either sex alone is half itself.
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Her eyes are homes of silent prayers.
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The splendour falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story: The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
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Oh that it were possible, After long grief and pain, To find the arms of my true love, Around me once again.
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Ring out old shapes of foul disease, Ring out the narrowing lust of gold; Ring out the thousand wars of old, Ring in the thousand years of peace.
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Behold, we know not anything; I can but trust that good shall fall At last-far off-at last, to all, And every winter change to spring.She sleeps: her breathings are not heard In palace chambers far apart. The fragrant tresses are not stirr'd That lie upon her charmed heart She sleeps: on either hand upswells The gold-fringed pillow lightly prest: She sleeps, nor dreams, but ever dwells A perfect form in perfect rest.
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In time there is no present, In eternity no future, In eternity no past.
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One so small Who knowing nothing knows but to obey.
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He is all fault who has no fault at all.
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As she fled fast through sun and shade The happy winds upon her play'd, Blowing the ringlet from the braid.
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Silence, beautiful voice.
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Short swallow-flights of song, that dip Their wings in tears, and skim away.
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I can't be anonymous by reason of your confounded photographs. (To Julia Margaret Cameron)