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Of all who hail thy presence as the morning —
Of all to whom thy absence is the night —
The blotting utterly from out high heaven
The sacred sun — of all who, weeping, bless thee
Hourly for hope — for life — ah! above all,
For the resurrection of deep-buried faith
In Truth — in Virtue — in Humanity —
Of all who, on Despair's unhallowed bed
Laying them down to die, have suddenly risen
At thy soft-murmured words, “Let there be light!”
At the soft-murmured words that were fulfilled
In the seraphic glancing of thine eyes —
Of all who owe thee most — whose gratitude
Nearest approaches worship — oh, remember
The truest — the most fervently devoted,
And think that these weak lines are written by him —
By him who, as he pens them, thrills to think
His spirit is communing with an angel's.
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Notes:
“Mrs. M. L. S.” was Mrs. Marie Louise Shew, Poe's friend and Virginia's nurse. Later, she was Mrs. Houghton.
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[S:0 - MS, 1847] - Edgar Allan Poe Society of Baltimore - Works - Poems - To M. L. S —— (Text-01)