Henry Harding Rogers

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Suppose the opalescence of the soul,
Dulled by its contact with the living brain
Burns dim. Suppose hereafter and again
We live, and know a living spirit whole,

Earth - Enchanted (First 3 Stanzas)

O beautiful, bountiful, mighty mother,
Mother of man who owes thee breath,
Beloved, and hated, for thou, no other
But thou, art mother of pain and death.

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