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The Secret

Nightingales warble about it,
   All night under blossom and star;
The wild swan is dying without it,
   And the eagle crieth afar;
The sun he doth mount but to find it,
   Searching the green earth o'er;
But more doth a man's heart mind it,
   Oh, more, more, more!

Over the gray leagues of ocean
   The infinite yearneth alone;
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6/16/2021 2:57:50 PM # 1.0.0.630