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[60] Doubt who may, O friend of mine!
     Thou and I have seen them too;
On before with beck and sign
     Still they glide, and we pursue.

More than clouds of purple trail
     In the gold of setting day;
More than gleams of wing or sail
     Beckon from the sea-mist gray.

Glimpses of immortal youth,
     Gleams and glories seen and flown,
Far-heard voices sweet with truth,
     Airs from viewless Eden blown;

Beauty that eludes our grasp,
     Sweetness that transcends our taste,
Loving hands we may not clasp,
     Shining feet that mock our haste;

Gentle eyes we closed below,
     Tender voices heard once more,
Smile and call us, as they go
     On and onward, still before.

Guided thus, O friend of mine!
     Let us walk our little way,
Knowing by each beckoning sign
     That we are not quite astray.

Chase we still, with baffled feet,
     Smiling eye and waving hand,

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Eden (1)
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