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Canto XVII

Thou comest, much wept for: such a breeze    Compell'd thy canvas, and my prayer    Was as the whisper of an air To breathe thee over lonely seas.

For I in spirit saw thee move    Thro' circles of the bounding sky,    Week after week: the days go by: Come quick, thou bringest all I love.

Henceforth, wherever thou may'st roam,    My blessing, like a line of light,   Is on the waters day and night, And like a beacon guards thee home.

So may whatever tempest mars    Mid-ocean, spare thee, sacred bark;    And balmy drops in summer dark Slide from the bosom of the stars.

So kind an office hath been done,    Such precious relics brought by thee;    The dust of him I shall not see Till all my widow'd race be run.

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

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