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In Memoriam A. H. H.: 54. Oh, yet we Trust that somehow Goo

Oh, yet we trust that somehow good
  Will be the final end of ill,
  To pangs of nature, sins of will,
  Defects of doubt, and taints of blood;
  That nothing walks with aimless feet;
  That not one life shall be destroy'd,
  Or cast as rubbish to the void,
  When God hath made the pile complete;
  That not a worm is cloven in vain;
  That not a moth with vain desire
  I shrivell'd in a fruitless fire,
  Or but subserves another's gain.

  Behold, we know not anything;
  I can but trust that good shall fall
  At last--far off--at last, to all,
  And every winter change to spring.

  So runs my dream: but what am I?
  An infant crying in the night:
  An infant crying for the light:
  And with no language but a cry.

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Submitted on May 13, 2011

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Alfred Lord Tennyson

Alfred Tennyson, 1st Baron Tennyson, FRS was Poet Laureate of Great Britain and Ireland during much of Queen Victoria's reign and remains one of the most popular British poets.  more…

All Alfred Lord Tennyson poems | Alfred Lord Tennyson Books

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    "In Memoriam A. H. H.: 54. Oh, yet we Trust that somehow Goo" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2021. Web. 26 Sep. 2021. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/1015/in-memoriam-a.-h.-h.:-54.-oh,-yet-we-trust-that-somehow-goo>.

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