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Futurity

 AND, O beloved voices, upon which
Ours passionately call because erelong
Ye brake off in the middle of that song
We sang together softly, to enrich
The poor world with the sense of love, and witch,
The heart out of things evil,--I am strong,
Knowing ye are not lost for aye among

The hills, with last year's thrush.
God keeps a niche In Heaven to hold our idols; and albeit He brake them to our faces and denied That our close kisses should impair their white, I know we shall behold them raised, complete, The dust swept from their beauty,--glorified New Memnons singing in the great God-light.

Poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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