  They found him when the day Was yet but gloom; Six feet of scarrÉd clay Was ample room And wide enough domain for all desires For him, whose glowing eyes Made mock at lethargies, Were not a moment still;— Can Death, all slayer, kill The fervent source of those exultant fires? Nay, not so; Somewhere that glow And starry shine so clear astonishes yet The wondering spirits as they come and go. Eyes that nor they nor we shall ever forget. OMIECOURT. |
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