To E. G., Dedicating A Book
A broken tale of endless things, Take, lady: thou art not of those Who in what vale a fountain springs Would have its journey close. Countless beginnings, fair first parts, Leap to the light, and shining flow; All broken things, or toys or hearts, Are mended where they go. Then down thy stream, with hope-filled sail, Float faithful fearless on, loved friend; 'Tis God that has begun the tale And does not mean to end.
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"A broken tale of endless things,..."
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