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Chapter 12 No.12

The thing we long for, that we are,

For one transcendent moment,

Before the Present, poor and bare,

Can make its sneering comment.

Still through our paltry stir and strife

Glows down the wished Ideal,

And Longing moulds in clay what Life

Carves in the marble Real.

LOWELL.

Mr. Haye came the latter part of September to fetc

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