Poetry of Hood
Thomas Hood
born 1798, died 1844 |
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To An Absentee
O'er hill, and dale, and distant sea,
Through all the miles that stretch between,
My thought must fly to rest on thee,
And would, though worlds should intervene.
Nay, thou art now so dear, methinks
The farther we are forc'd apart,
Affection's firm elastic links
But bind the closer round the heart.
For now we sever each from each,
I learn what I have lost in thee;
Alas, that nothing less could teach,
How great indeed my love should be!
Farewell! I did not know thy worth,
But thou art gone, and now 'tis priz'd:
So angels walk'd unknown on earth,
But when they flew were recogniz'd!
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