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 And, maybe, to-day, by Nile's bright waters

Damsels of Egypt in gowns of blue—

Great- great- great-—very- great-—grand-daughters

Owe their shapely insteps to you!

But vainly I beat at the bars of the Past,

Little green slippers with golden strings!

For all you can tell is that leather will last

When loves, and delightings, and beautiful things

Have vanished, forgotten—No! not quite that!

I catch some gleam of the grace you wore

When you finished with Life's daily pit-a-pat,

And left your shoes at Death's bedroom door.

You were born in the Egypt which did not doubt;

You were never sad with our new-fashioned sorrows:

You were sure, when your play-days on Earth ran out,

Of play-times to come, as we of our morrows!