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In Memoriam A.H.H.

         
            XLIII.
             
      If Sleep and Death be truly one,
          And every spirit’s folded bloom
          Thro’ all its intervital gloom
      In some long trance should slumber on;

      Unconscious of the sliding hour,
          Bare of the body, might it last,
          And silent traces of the past
      Be all the colour of the flower:

      So then were nothing lost to man;
          So that still garden of the souls
          In many a figured leaf enrolls
      The total world since life began;

      And love will last as pure and whole
          As when he loved me here in Time,
          And at the spiritual prime
      Rewaken with the dawning soul.
       


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