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Poem by Coventry Patmore
With all my will, but much against my heart, We two now part. My Very Dear, Our solace is, the sad road lies so clear. It needs no art, With faint, averted feet And many a tear, In our opposèd paths to persevere. Go thou to East, I West. We will not say There 's any hope, it is so far away. But, O, my Best, When the one darling of our widowhead, The nursling Grief, Is dead, And no dews blur our eyes To see the peach-bloom come in evening skies, Perchance we may, Where now this night is day, And even through faith of still averted feet, Making full circle of our banishment, Amazèd meet; The bitter journey to the bourne so sweet Seasoning the termless feast of our content With tears of recognition never dry.
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