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54 Wake her not up, my beloved. Strange that she does not stir ! " Heroes exult in the conflict, and madmen rush forth and die. Neither a hero nor madman — alas for my state ! — am I ; Something of clearness of vision doth dawn on my eyes from far, Nothing of clearness of action agrees with the things that are. Wake her not up, my beloved ; pillow the dainty head. " Life, with its broken endeavours, seems sometimes like rotten fruit, Only the worse for the sunshine of heaven that does not suit ; Plant-like, we need lie in darkness before we translated be, Hades must rest us for ages ere we shall the glory see. Wake her not up, my beloved. Merciful God ! she is dead." " Mark, you are ill ! " said Agnes suddenly. He answered low, " No, dear, a little tired,