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1814–1902

XVIII.

Aubrey De Vere

“They have no wine.” The tender guest Was grieved their feast should lack for aught. He seemed to slight her mute request: Not less the grace she wished He wrought.

O great in Love! O full of Grace! That winds in thee, a river broad, From Christ, with heaven-reflecting face, Gladdening the City of thy God:—

Be this thy gift: that man henceforth No more should creep through life content ( Draining the springs impure of earth ) With life's material element.

Let sacraments to sense succeed: Let nought be winning, nought be good Which fails of Him to speak, and bleed Once more with His all-cleansing blood!

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XVIII. · Aubrey De Vere · Poetry Cove