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In Memorium: The Gulf of Mexico

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.

 

(From “In Memorium” by Alfred Lord Tennyson)

 

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