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The Earth-Bound

Still grove and hill and shadowy grot, The flesh of our celestial thought, Trammel the mind, However bent Upon the heavenly argument. The spring of wisdom ever flows Pure shining water as it goes Over the rocks and through the grass Whither we stoop to hear it pass, And healing is a tree whose leaves Fall round us like the falling sleeves Of love, that bending down at night, Covers with them a face alight. Tangled with earth all ways, we move, And sleep at last in heaven that is a grove.