All are not taken; t behind

    Living Belovèds, tender looks to bring

    And make t still a hing,

    And tender voices, to make soft the wind:

    But if it  so—if I could find

    No love in all ting,

    Nor any pat hollowly did ring

    to dust the love from life disjoind;

    And if, before those sepulchres unmoving

    I stood alone (as some forsaken lamb

    Goes bleating up th)

    Crying here are ye, O my loved and loving?—

    I knoer, I AM.

    Can I suffice for  for earth?