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Canto XCI

When rosy plumelets tuft the larch,    And rarely pipes the mounted thrush;    Or underneath the barren bush Flits by the sea-blue bird of March;

Come, wear the form by which I know    Thy spirit in time among thy peers;    The hope of unaccomplish'd years Be large and lucid round thy brow.

When summer's hourly-mellowing change    May breathe, with many roses sweet,    Upon the thousand waves of wheat, That ripple round the lonely grange;

Come: not in watches of the night,    But where the sunbeam broodeth warm,    Come, beauteous in thine after form, And like a finer light in light.

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

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