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In Memoriam A.H.H.

         
            CVIII.
             
      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, thoí with might
          To scale the heavenís 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:
          íTis held that sorrow makes us wise,
      Whatever wisdom sleep with thee.
       


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