I think just how my shape will rise - When I shall be "forgiven" - Till Hair - and Eyes - and timid Head - Are out of sight - in Heaven - I think just how my lips will weigh - With shapeless - quivering - prayer - That you - so late - "Consider" me - The "Sparrow" of your Care -
I mind me that of Anguish - sent - Some drifts were moved away - Before my simple bosom - broke - And why not this - if they?
And so I con that thing - "forgiven" - Until - delirious - borne - By my long bright - and longer - trust - I drop my Heart - unshriven!
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