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In Memoriam A.H.H.

         
            XXXIV.
             
      My own dim life should teach me this,
          That life shall live for evermore,
          Else earth is darkness at the core,
      And dust and ashes all that is;

      This round of green, this orb of flame,
          Fantastic beauty; such as lurks
          In some wild Poet, when he works
      Without a conscience or an aim.

      What then were God to such as I?
          ’Twere hardly worth my while to choose
          Of things all mortal, or to use
      A little patience ere I die;

      ’Twere best at once to sink to peace,
          Like birds the charming serpent draws,
          To drop head-foremost in the jaws
      Of vacant darkness and to cease.
       


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