Excerpt: For any rough-spun web to dress her dream And make it visible to eyes that doubt; And doubting see but air where seraph shape Makes radiant the roads that wind about Earth's twilight fringes that too heavy drape The striving lance of sight. But she, so poor In shining words that those who hear must scoff, Bears in her eyes such riches, such dear lure Of vision, that ere dies the mocker's laugh, She forward springs to take thee by the hand, Nor stays her joy till doubters understand.
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