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Aye, even in disease
When fail the heart and brain,
When fails still more the soul of him who sees,
Yet cannot lull, the maddening pain—
Then, even then, the Lord
Within the strange unknown disease may lurk,
Watching his atom-armies at their work,
Giving each germ its keen small sword:—
That so this bodily frame
Assaulted, stormed, or undermined at last,
May fade by natural laws into the past,
Given back to earth, or given to flame;
That then, the fleshly scaffolding removed,
The soul's fair palace, finished quite, may gleam,
Lovelier than palace of the loveliest dream,
Lovelier than all we loved.
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