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Thou art the friend and comrade, Poesy,
For whom I suffer all things, still content
If not in vain for thee my light is spent,—
The share of heavenly light that fell on me.
Thou art my meat, my drink, my liberty;
Thou art my garb, thou art my tenement,
Wherein I hide all night from floods unpent
From lightnings, winds, and scourgings of the sea.
Oh, thou art strong and lovely as the light,—
Yea, as the light of morning, strong and sweet!
Thou art the lover perfect in my sight,
Attending all my steps with eager feet;
The form, the image in my dreams at night,
The morning glory that I rise to greet.

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