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JOHN KIS.
77
My heart before thee,—on the wing
Of the calm breeze, methinks I hear
Thy voice—O tell me, art thou there?
Methinks, when at the midnight hour,
In solemn silence fluttering by,
The whisper that some viewless power
Passes, in angel-chariot, nigh;
Methinks that whisper needs must be
Some herald's voice announcing thee.
