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Connected but with what had been, Clung not to any future scene. There is an indolence in grief Which will not even seek relief: I sat me down, like one who knows The poison tree above him grows, Yet moves not; my life-task was done With that hour which left me alone.

It was one glad and glorious noon, Fill'd with the golden airs of June, When leaf and flower look to the sun As if his light and life were one,— A day of those diviner days When breath seems only given for praise Beneath a stately tree which shed A cool green shadow over-head;