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To know that silent is the tone Whose tenderness was all our own; To kiss the cheek which once had burn'd At the least glance, and find it turn'd To marble; and then think of all Of hope, that memory can recall. Yes, misery! but even here There is a somewhat left to cheer, A gentle treasuring of sweet things Remembrance gathers from the past, The pride of faithfulness, which clings To love kept sacred to the last. And even if another's love Has touch'd the heart to us above The treasures of the east, yet still There is a solace for the ill.