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- Free to all souls the hidden beauty calls,
- The sea thrift dwelling on her spray-swept height,
- The lofty rose, the low-grown aconite,
- The gliding river and the stream that brawls
- Down the sharp cliffs with constant breaks and falls --
- All these are equal in the equal light --
- All waters mirror the one Infinite.
- God made a garden, it was men built walls;
- But the wide sea from men is wholly freed;
- Freely the great waves rise and storm and break,
- Nor softlier go for any landlord's need,
- Where rhythmic tides flow for no miser's sake
- And none hath profit of the brown sea-weed,
- But all things give themselves, yet none may take.
- Eva Gore-Booth
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