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Flower in the crannied wall, I pluck you out of the crannies, I hold you here, root and all, in my hand, Little flower–but if I could understand What you are, root and all, and all in all, I should know what God and man is. Home Chronological Index of Tennyson's Works Timeline of Tennyson's Life Links to Other Tennyson Sites Sources/Info Send Corrections, Suggestions, or Comments |