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When on my bed the moonlight falls,    I know that in thy place of rest    By that broad water of the west, There comes a glory on the walls;

Thy marble bright in dark appears,    As slowly steals a silver flame    Along the letters of thy name, And o'er the number of thy years.

The mystic glory swims away;    From off my bed the moonlight dies;    And closing eaves of wearied eyes I sleep till dusk is dipt in gray;

And then I know the mist is drawn    A lucid veil from coast to coast,    And in the dark church like a ghost Thy tablet glimmers to the dawn.

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

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