FOR A DEAD LADY
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o more with overflowing lightShall fill the eyes that now are faded,Nor shall another’s fringe with nightTheir woman-hidden world as they did.No more shall quiver down the daysThe flowing wonder of her ways,Whereof no language may requiteThe shifting and the many-shaded. The grace, divine, definitive,Clings only as a faint forestalling;The laugh that love could not forgiveIs hushed, and answers to no calling;The forehead and the little earsHave gone where Saturn keeps the years;The breast where roses could not liveHas done with rising and with falling. The beauty, shattered by the lawsThat have creation in their keeping,No longer trembles at applause,Or over children that are sleeping;And we who delve in beauty’s loreKnow all that we have known beforeOf what inexorable causeMakes Time so vicious in his reaping.
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