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Title: The Infidel
Author: Laurence Alma-Tadema [ More Titles by Alma-Tadema]
My soul at times, outworn by length of woe, A strange appeasement seeks in doubting thee, And cries: My sacred mount's a thing as low As any hillock; shallow rolls the sea That should have quenched my deep unbounded thirst; My star's a lamp that flickers earthly light; Mere surf-worn glass my emerald; why burst, O heart! for love of these?--Then, fullest night Environs me, thou banished; stretching wide My arms, I grope for refuge; all my pain Cries babe-like for a breast whereon to hide, And on to thine I fling myself again.... Thus fools, impatient of God's silence, cry: There is no God!--and seek what they deny.
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