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Canto LXV

Sweet soul, do with me as thou wilt;    I lull a fancy trouble-tost    With "Love's too precious to be lost, A little grain shall not be spilt."

And in that solace can I sing,    Till out of painful phases wrought    There flutters up a happy thought, Self-balanced on a lightsome wing:

Since we deserved the name of friends,    And thine effect so lives in me,    A part of mine may live in thee And move thee on to noble ends.

-Alfred Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam A. H. H., Canto LXV

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