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So runs my dream, but what am I?
An infant crying in the night
An infant crying for the light
And with no language but a cry.
Lord Alfred Tennyson
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Sometimes the heart sees what's invisible to the eye.
---Tennyson
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The red rose cries, "She is near, she is near;"
And the white rose weeps, "She is late;"
The larkspur listens, "I hear, I hear;"
And the lily whispers, "I wait.
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Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.
W.B. Yeats