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In Memoriam A.H.H.
I
will not shut me from my kind,
And, lest I stiffen into stone,
I will not eat my heart alone,
Nor
feed with sighs a passing wind:
What
profit lies in barren faith,
And vacant yearning, tho’ with might
To scale the heaven’s highest height,
Or
dive below the wells of Death?
What
find I in the highest place,
But mine own phantom chanting hymns?
And on the depths of death there swims
The
reflex of a human face.
I'll
rather take what fruit may be
Of sorrow under human skies:
’Tis held that sorrow makes us wise,
Whatever
wisdom sleep with thee.
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