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MAY AND DEATH.
I wish that when you died last May,
Charles, there had died along with you Three parts of spring's delightful things;
Ay, and, for me, the fourth part too.
A foolish thought, and worse, perhaps !
There must be many a pair of friends Who, arm in arm, deserve the warm
Moon-births and the long evening-ends.
So, for their sakes, be May still May!
Let their new time, as mine of old, Do all it did for me: I bid
Sweet sights and sounds throng manifold.
Only, one little sight, one plant,
Woods have in May, that starts up green Save a sole streak which, so to speak,
Is spring's blood, spilt its leaves between,
That, they might spare; a certain wood
Might miss the plant; their loss were small : But I, -whene'er the leaf grows there,
Its drop comes from my heart, that's all.
FEAR death?—to feel the fog in my throat,
The mist in my face,
I am nearing the place,
The post of the foe;
Yet the strong man must go :
And the barriers fall,
The reward of it all.