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A LITTLE MINISTER
Far up the crag, 'twixt sea and sky,
Where winds tempestuous, blowing by,
Leave giant boulders swept and bare:
Where frequent lightnings fitful flare,
And petrels sound their stormy cry,—
I found a bluebell, sweet and shy,
Lifting its head complacently,
As guarded by the tenderest care—
Far up the crag.
And often now, when fear draws nigh,
In thought I stand 'twixt sea and sky,
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