From silken mists scarred stones give tongue
To canticles raised to twilit drear,
Of frolicked hours when seasons were young,
And Promise chastised every fear.
Once brightly smiled upon our days
The kindly sun of Life's beauteous womb,
The reaching hearts, our breathless gaze
Died not nor sleeps within this tomb,
But thunders soft from lips long stilled
No lonely dirge, nor dour 'plaint,
For...
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