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Fears not yet fears—
And out beyond, the world untamed
Of which to make
Their surer paradise of tears!

But in the Garden is a hallowed emptiness
Of laws, forgotten now,
Concerning fruit and flowers,
That none shall ever bless
Or break;
And in the Garden is the one plucked Bough
That blossoms whimpering
Through a divine monotony
Of spring on spring.

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