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123

VII.
“WHAT HAS BEEN, IS”

What has been, is. I have lost my rose, and yet
I know that, if a rose-bloom God there be,
That rose of his sweet nurture I shall see
And with the former love my lids be wet,—
And that the wings of passion-fed regret
Shall part, and glisten into air, and flee;—
And that she shall be tender unto me,
And that these eyes shall meet the eyes I met
On that far seashore in the sweet old days
In some rose-haunted nook of heaven again.
Be it how it may, no other hand can raise
My forehead in the grasses of wan pain
Sunk deep,—and, if for ever I remain
Alive, no other woman will I praise.
1871.