When you are sad, always remember this—
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And nothing in the sky can go amiss;
The promise of the stars was broken never.
Always the tide is punctual to the weed,
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And to the little barnacle that waits,
Sighing for love of it in its great need.
Yea, great and small miraculously are mates,
Calling and answering one unto the other:
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Why, therefore, sad? Something on sea or land
Your lovely sister is, or your brave brother,
Waiting mysteriously to take your hand.
Thus, understanding that all things that are—
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Volcanoes and the yellow butterfly,
The coral climbing to the evening star—
Are one together, shall not you and I
Be brave from all this wonder, and have faith
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That colour is man's comrade, and those forms
Meaningless save for beauty that nothing saith?
And know, long since, man was the friend of storms.