  IThis woman, with the dear child-heart, Ye mourn as dead, is—where and what? With faith as artless as her Art, I question not,— But dare divine, and feel, and know Her blessedness—as hath been writ In allegory.—Even so I fashion it:— IIA stately figure, rapt and awed In her new guise of Angelhood, Still lingered, wistful—knowing God Was very good.— Her thought’s fine whisper filled the pause; And, listening, the Master smiled, And lo! the stately angel was |
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