Emlyn Dickinson's Herbarium
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Low amid that glad _Belles lettres_
Grant that we may stand,
Stars, amid profound Galaxies,
At that grand 'Right hand'!
Could mortal lip divine
The undeveloped freight
Of a delivered syllable,
'T would crumble with the weight.
My life closed twice before its close;
It yet remains to see
If Immortality unveil
A third event to me,

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