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 And the rooks in solemn hosts Gather and drift like rain. Then at last I feel and know That all my memories As they wavered and flickered in endless flow Were premonitions sent long ago Of nothing else than this! Than that I with you by my side, Wraith-like but lovely still, Should follow the river and drift and glide, Past forest and forest — past hill and hill; Till the river we follow grows one with the sea. Ah, the pain again — it will never be!