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is he, dying so hard? Hard is it to die— Die in the warmth of June, Bird and bee in tune— Die in the singing time. When all the world's in rhyme. Hard it is to die.

He is Hope lying so low, Dull it is to lie— Lie, and the hounds full cry Give music to each sigh— Lie, and the antlered stag Leaps light from crag to crag. Weary 'tis to lie.

Is there never a one to weep? Weep, for Hope is dead. Dead, and a body so fair. Never a woman to care?