In Memoriam A.H.H.
in thy second state sublime,
Thy ransom’d reason change replies
With all the circle of the wise,
perfect flower of human time;
if thou cast thine eyes below,
How dimly character’d and slight,
How dwarf’d a growth of cold and night,
blanch'd with darkness must I grow!
turn thee to the doubtful shore,
Where thy first form was made a man:
I loved thee, Spirit, and love, nor can
soul of Shakespeare love thee more.
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