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 E'en as I spake, a mournful wind drew near, Heavy with scent of drooping roses shed, And incense scattered from the passing bier Of some loved woman canopied in red, Borne with slow chant and swift-remembering tear, To the blind, ultimate silence of the dead. . ..

O lost, O quenched in unawakening sleep The glory of her dear, reluctant eyes! O hushed the eager feet that knew the steep And intricate ways of ecstasy and sighs! And dumb with alien slumber, dim and deep, The living heart that was love's paradise! Quick with the sense of joys she hath foregone, Returned my soul to beckoning joys that wait, Laughter of children and the lyric dawn, And love's delight, profound and passionate, Winged dreams that blow their golden clarion, And hope that conquers immemorial hate. 26