All are not taken; t behind
Living Belovèds, tender looks to bring
And make t still a hing,
And tender voices, to make soft the wind:
But if it so—if I could find
No love in all ting,
Nor any pat hollowly did ring
to dust the love from life disjoind;
And if, before those sepulchres unmoving
I stood alone (as some forsaken lamb
Goes bleating up th)
Crying here are ye, O my loved and loving?—
I knoer, I AM.
Can I suffice for for earth?