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117
TWICE DEAD
The spirit ever hath desire
To pierce, thro' forms of Friendship, higher,
And somewhere gain its promised part
Of true communion, heart with heart.
To pierce, thro' forms of Friendship, higher,
And somewhere gain its promised part
Of true communion, heart with heart.
Ah, friend of Youth! thy fresh-cut grave
Is warmer than the hand you gave:
Else were not (strangers many years)
Lost friend, lost friend! these tears, these tears.
Is warmer than the hand you gave:
Else were not (strangers many years)
Lost friend, lost friend! these tears, these tears.
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