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294 And now it is too late ; the very thing That gives thee boldness takes my power away. "Because I die, I tell thee," said thy lips; And mine can only close on them with tears. How shall I serve thee ? how can I compress The joy of our lost years into this space ? Would thou couldst take me with thee on thy flight, To follow thee, and serve as thou hast served. Hast thou no wishes, nothing I can do ? One thing? Declare it. That I keep my soul Unspotted, train it for the highest things, And hold myself as precious for thy sake ? I promise it. But for thyself, dear, — now that thou dost stand With heaven in one hand, is there no gift Thine other could receive ? Command me, dear ; I am all thine. One thing ? Thine epitaph upon my heart ? It shall be graven there, burnt in and in : Tell it me, I repeat it after thee, "I truly might have loved him had I known."