Iv

O Wilderness of Death, O Desert rent and riv’n, Where art thou?—for the breath Of heav’n hath made thee Heav’n.

I know not now these ways; The rocky rifts are gone, Deep-verdured like the braes Of blest Avilion.

Here where there were no flowers The heav’nly waters flow, And thro’ a thousand bowers Innum’rable blossoms blow.

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