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TO MY OWN PORTRAIT.
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To see thee calm, while powers thus deep,
Affection—Memory—Grief—
Pass o'er my soul as winds that sleep
O'er a frail aspen-leaf!
Oh! that the quiet of thine eye
Might sink there when the storm goes by!
Yet look thou still serenely on,
And if sweet friends there be,
That when my song and soul are gone
Shall seek my form in thee,
Tell them of One for whom 'twas best
To flee away and be at rest!
1827.
