Upward my face I turn to you, I long for you, I yearn to you, The spectral vision trances me to utt'rance wild and weak; It is not that I mourn you, To mourn you were to scorn you, For you are one step nearer to the beauty singers seek. But I want, and cannot see you, I seek and cannot find you, And, see! I touch the book of songs you tenderly left behind you!

Robert Williams Buchanan
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