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Yet never catch her and me together,

As she left the attic, there,
By the rim of the bottle labelled “ Ether,"

And stole from stair to stair,

9.

And stood by the rose-wreathed gate. Alas,

We loved, sir — used to meet : How sad and bad and mad it was —

But then, how it was sweet!

M A Y AND D E A T H.

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.

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