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Rh Think not I may not know thee kneeling there, For all I lie so silently in death; Ay, ever as the candle flickereth, I watch the light weave shadow in thy hair, I see thy white hands eloquent in prayer, I hear the agony of sobbing breath; And words of faith thy sorrow whispereth Upon thy lips are echoes of despair.

I hear—and wonder how one time we played At this; called Death's reflection to Love's glass, And blurred the image with a laugh, afraid. Now Death is come and gone, the solemn mass Low sung, the mirror shattered; fancies pass, And heart in heart we weep Love's body laid.