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Rh Who shared thy joy and sorrow,
 * Whose weal and woe were thine:

It should be mine to braid it
 * Around thy faded brow,

But I’ve in vain essayed it,
 * And feel I cannot now.

While memory bids me weep thee,
 * Nor thoughts nor words are free,

The grief is fixed too deeply
 * That mourns a man like thee.