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  • sammack1126


Sweet after showers, ambrosial air,    That rollest from the gorgeous gloom    Of evening over brake and bloom And meadow, slowly breathing bare

The round of space, and rapt below    Thro' all the dewy-tassell'd wood,    And shadowing down the horned flood In ripples, fan my brows and blow

The fever from my cheek, and sigh    The full new life that feeds thy breath    Throughout my frame, till Doubt and Death, Ill brethren, let the fancy fly

From belt to belt of crimson seas    On leagues of odour streaming far,    To where in yonder orient star A hundred spirits whisper "Peace."

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

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