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In Memoriam A.H.H.

         
            CXIX.
             
      Doors, where my heart was used to beat
          So quickly, not as one that weeps
          I come once more; the city sleeps;
      I smell the meadow in the street;

      I hear a chirp of birds; I see
          Betwixt the black fronts long-withdrawn
          A light-blue lane of early dawn,
      And think of early days and thee,

      And bless thee, for thy lips are bland,
          And bright the friendship of thine eye;
          And in my thoughts with scarce a sigh
      I take the pressure of thine hand.
       


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