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SWEET eyes of blue, shine down beside
The lonely path I tread;
With you was life beatified . . .
But here the leaves are dead.
The leaves are dead, the trees are bare
And haggard with the cold:
A murmur of gray sea everywhere -
A dash of sunset gold -
A lurid pallor lengthening thro'
The outmost verge of sight,
And wailing winds and damp sea-dew, -
So falls the autumn night.
Ah! wisht-for hand! I miss thy touch
Of healing on my pain.
The tide comes in: I know that such
As she comes not again.
True heart I lost, I miss you, but
I know not where to find;
How see the eyes that death hath shut
The sad eyes left behind?
One night I dreamt I saw her, dead.
The dream - the life - are one.
A halo of gold about the head
Dearest beneath the sun.
They wear not halos here. . . The eyes
Are pitiful, you see.
In their blue calms of Paradise
Is there no place for me?
The vistaed wood-walks are forgot
That markt the ways of old, -
The dreamland hills remember'd not,
In purple dawn-mists roll'd.
But I remember, dear, and press
Closer to those dim days:
Look on the past with tenderness, -
It needs not all dispraise.
Too late for pride or shame! Apart
Forever she dwells from me;
And sunder'd farther heart from heart
Than farthest sea from sea!
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