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In Memoriam A.H.H.

         
            XCVIII.
             
      You leave us: you will see the Rhine,
          And those fair hills I sail’d below,
          When I was there with him; and go
      By summer belts of wheat and vine

      To where he breathed his latest breath,
          That City. All her splendour seems
          No livelier than the wisp that gleams
      On Lethe in the eyes of Death.

      Let her great Danube rolling fair
          Enwind her isles, unmark’d of me:
          I have not seen, I will not see
      Vienna; rather dream that there,

      A treble darkness, Evil haunts
          The birth, the bridal; friend from friend
          Is oftener parted, fathers bend
      Above more graves, a thousand wants

      Gnarr at the heels of men, and prey
          By each cold hearth, and sadness flings
          Her shadow on the blaze of kings:
      And yet myself have heard him say,

      That not in any mother town
          With statelier progress to and fro
          The double tides of chariots flow
      By park and suburb under brown

      Of lustier leaves; nor more content,
          He told me, lives in any crowd,
          When all is gay with lamps, and loud
      With sport and song, in booth and tent,

      Imperial halls, or open plain;
          And wheels the circled dance, and breaks
          The rocket molten into flakes
      Of crimson or in emerald rain.
       


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