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In Memoriam A.H.H.

         
            XXVI.
             
      Still onward winds the dreary way;
          I with it; for I long to prove
          No lapse of moons can canker Love,
      Whatever fickle tongues may say.

      And if that eye which watches guilt
          And goodness, and hath power to see
          Within the green the moulder’d tree,
      And towers fall’n as soon as built–

      Oh, if indeed that eye foresee
          Or see (in Him is no before)
          In more of life true life no more
      And Love the indifference to be,

      Then might I find, ere yet the morn
          Breaks hither over Indian seas,
          That Shadow waiting with the keys,
      To shroud me from my proper scorn.
       


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