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Sara Teasdale - The Shrine
Work rating: Low

There is no lord within my heart, 
Left silent as an empty shrine 
Where rose and myrtle intertwine, 
Within a place apart.

No god is there of carven stone 
To watch with still approving eyes 
My thoughts like steady incense rise; 
I dream and weep alone.

But if I keep my altar fair, 
Some morning I shall lift my head 
From roses deftly garlanded 
To find the god is there.
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