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In Memoriam A.H.H.

         
            XC.
             
      He tasted love with half his mind,
          Nor ever drank the inviolate spring
          Where nighest heaven, who first could fling
      This bitter seed among mankind;

      That could the dead, whose dying eyes
          Were closed with wail, resume their life,
          They would but find in child and wife
      An iron welcome when they rise:

      ’Twas well, indeed, when warm with wine,
          To pledge them with a kindly tear,
          To talk them o’er, to wish them here,
      To count their memories half divine;

      But if they came who past away,
          Behold their brides in other hands;
          The hard heir strides about their lands,
      And will not yield them for a day.

      Yea, tho’ their sons were none of these,
          Not less the yet-loved sire would make
          Confusion worse than death, and shake
      The pillars of domestic peace.

      Ah dear, but come thou back to me:
          Whatever change the years have wrought,
          I find not yet one lonely thought
      That cries against my wish for thee.
       


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