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In Memoriam A.H.H.

         
            XL.
             
      Could we forget the widow’d hour
          And look on Spirits breathed away,
          As on a maiden in the day
      When first she wears her orange-flower!

      When crown’d with blessing she doth rise
          To take her latest leave of home,
          And hopes and light regrets that come
      Make April of her tender eyes;

      And doubtful joys the father move,
          And tears are on the mother’s face,
          As parting with a long embrace
      She enters other realms of love;

      Her office there to rear, to teach,
          Becoming as is meet and fit
          A link among the days, to knit
      The generations each with each;

      And, doubtless, unto thee is given
          A life that bears immortal fruit
          In those great offices that suit
      The full-grown energies of heaven.

      Ay me, the difference I discern!
          How often shall her old fireside
          Be cheer’d with tidings of the bride,
      How often she herself return,

      And tell them all they would have told,
          And bring her babe, and make her boast,
          Till even those that miss’d her most
      Shall count new things as dear as old:

      But thou and I have shaken hands,
          Till growing winters lay me low;
          My paths are in the fields I know,
      And thine in undiscover’d lands.
       


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