All are not taken; t behind

        Living Belovèds, tender looks t

        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)

        g here are ye, O my loved and loving?—

        I knoer, I AM.

        I suffice for    for earth?
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