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 | The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder |  |
III
They will not hearken to our voices.
They are still; their eyes look not upon us.
110
O insatiate! O Secret of the white and unknown world, cruel indeed thou art!
Thou hast sent back to us our best belovèd; their bodies thou hast rendered up, but their spirits thou hast taken away from us forever.
In life thou didst hold them from us—and in death, in death they are thine.
| The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder | |