  Come not, when I am dead, To drop thy foolish tears upon my grave, To trample round my fallen head, And vex the unhappy dust thou wouldst not save. There let the wind sweep, and the plover cry; But go thou by. Child, if it were thine error or thy crime I care no longer, being all unblest; Wed whom thou wilt; but I am sick of time, And I desire to rest. Pass on, weak heart, and leave me where I lie. Go by—go by! ALFRED TENNYSON. [From Blackwood's Magazine.] |
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