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We had been speaking of the immortal dead. The light flash'd in her eyes. "'Tis this which makes The best assurance of our promised heaven: This triumph intellect has over death— Our words yet live on others' lips; our thoughts Actuate others. Can that man be dead Whose spiritual influence is upon his kind? He lives in glory; and such speaking dust Has more of life than half its breathing moulds. Welcome a grave with memories such as these, Making the sunshine of our moral world!" "This proud reward you see, and yet can leave: Your songs sink on the ear, and there they die, A flower's sweetness, but a flower's life. An evening's homage is your only fame;