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The Angels Bid Farewell to Adam

Thy soul hath no rest,
By day or by night,
Though thou art made of dust,
Thy nature is mercurial.

Dust thou art, indeed,
And to dust thou shalt return,
But thy nature links thy soul
With the sun, the moon, and the stars.

If thou couldst glimpse thy beauty,
Even in a dream,
That morphean dream will be
Far nobler than awakening.

Thy musings and thy sighs,
At the first streak of dawn—
A passion that sustains thee—
Is the envy of our souls.

The essence of life unveils it self
In thy songs of love;
For thy harp is strung
By nature’s invisible hands.

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