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In Memoriam A.H.H.

         
            XXVII.
             
      I envy not in any moods
          The captive void of noble rage,
          The linnet born within the cage,
      That never knew the summer woods:

      I envy not the beast that takes
          His license in the field of time,
          Unfetter’d by the sense of crime,
      To whom a conscience never wakes;

      Nor, what may count itself as blest,
          The heart that never plighted troth
          But stagnates in the weeds of sloth;
      Nor any want-begotten rest.

      I hold it true, whate’er befall;
          I feel it, when I sorrow most;
          ’Tis better to have loved and lost
      Than never to have loved at all.
       


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