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women pass before me in my dreams,

Dear women dead whose red lips I have kissed,

In sweet succession smiling through a mist

Of many unshed tears, but yet it seems

One woman stands behind me, who is she?

She stands behind me silently. Alas,

I cannot see, but feel her presence there,

The soft reflected radiance of her hair

Lights up the gloom, but still she will not pass,

This ever silent woman, who is she?

Rh