To her derided Home
A Weed of Summer came —
She did not know her station low
Nor Ignominy’s Name —
Bestowed a summer long
Upon a frameless flower —
Then swept as lightly from disdain
As Lady from her Bower —
Of Bliss the Codes are few —
As Jesus cites of Him —
“Come unto me” the moiety
That wafts the Seraphim —
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