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Thomas Hood - Verses Written In An Album
Work rating: Low

Far above the hollow 
Tempest, and its moan, 
Singeth bright Apollo 
In his golden zone,— 
Cloud doth never shade him, 
Nor a storm invade him, 
On his joyous throne. 
So when I behold me 
In an orb as bright, 
How thy soul doth fold me 
In its throne of light! 
Sorrow never paineth, 
Nor a care attaineth 
To that blessed height.
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