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CANNOT find thee. Still on restless pinion
And shrink beneath thy light ineffable.
I cannot find thee. E'en when most adoring,
Yet high above the limits of my seeing,
And folded far within the inmost heart,
I cannot lose thee. Still in thee abiding,
The end is clear, how wide soe'er I roam;
And I must rest at last in thee, my home.
ELIZA SCUDDer, 1821