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Canto LXX

I cannot see the features right,    When on the gloom I strive to paint    The face I know; the hues are faint And mix with hollow masks of night;

Cloud-towers by ghostly masons wrought,    A gulf that ever shuts and gapes,    A hand that points, and palled shapes In shadowy thoroughfares of thought;

And crowds that stream from yawning doors,    And shoals of pucker'd faces drive;    Dark bulks that tumble half alive, And lazy lengths on boundless shores;

Till all at once beyond the will    I hear a wizard music roll,    And thro' a lattice on the soul Looks thy fair face and makes it still.

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

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