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written by John Masefield
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Give me a light that I may see her,
Give me a grace that I may be her,
Give me a clue that I may find her
Whose beauty shows the brain behind her.
Stars and women and running rivers,
And sunny water where a shadow shivers,
And the little brooks that lift the grasses,
And April flowers are where she passes.
And all things good and all things kind
Are glimmerings coming from her mind,
And in the may a blackbird sings
Against her very heartë springs.

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