When youthful faith hath fled, Of loving take thy leave; Be constant to the dead Ė The dead cannot deceive. Sweet modest flowers of Spring, How fleet your balmy day! And Manís brief life can bring No secondary May: No earthly burst again Of gladness out of gloom, Fond hope and vision vain, Ungrateful to the tomb. But ítis an old belief That on some solemn shore Beyond the sphere of grief Dear friends shall meet once more: Beyond the sphere of Time And Sin and Fateís control, Serene in endless prime Of body and of soul. That creed I fain would keep, That hope Iíll not forgo Ė Eternal be the sleep Unless to waken so!
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