To the Not Impossible Him
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ow shall I know, unless I goTo Cairo and Cathay,Whether or not this blessed spotIs blest in every way? Now it may be, the flower for meIs this beneath my nose;How shall I tell, unless I smellThe Carthaginian rose? The fabric of my faithful loveNo power shall dim or ravelWhilst I stay here,--but oh, my dear,If I should ever travel!
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