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In Memoriam A.H.H.

         
            XVI.
             
      What words are these have fallín from me?
          Can calm despair and wild unrest
          Be tenants of a single breast,
      Or sorrow such a changeling be?

      Or doth she only seem to take
          The touch of change in calm or storm;
          But knows no more of transient form
      In her deep self, than some dead lake

      That holds the shadow of a lark
          Hung in the shadow of a heaven?
          Or has the shock, so harshly given,
      Confused me like the unhappy bark

      That strikes by night a craggy shelf,
          And staggers blindly ere she sink?
          And stunníd me from my power to think
      And all my knowledge of myself;

      And made me that delirious man
          Whose fancy fuses old and new,
          And flashes into false and true,
      And mingles all without a plan?
       


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