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 That evermore, that stone beside, Thy wither'd joys would form thy pride; As palm-trees, on their south sea bed, Make islands with the flowers they shed.

Child of the Dead! my dream of thee Was sad to tell, and dark to see; And vain as many a brighter dream; Since thou canst sing by Babel's stream!

For here, amid the worldly crowd, 'Mid common brows, and laughter loud, And hollow words, and feelings sere, Child of the Dead! I meet thee here!

And is thy step so fast and light? And is thy smile so gay and bright? And canst thou smile, with cheek undim, Upon a world that frown'd on him?