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Portrait of Heine
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Ill

I he stricken son and the motherin a little garret slept,there came the Mother of Heaven,and soft to the bedside stept.

She bent Her over the sleeper,and for a little whilelaid on his heart her fingerswith a soft immortal smile.

The mother saw all in a vision,and more she would have seen,had she not from her sleepingby the dogs awakened been.

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