But I found my cross with its carvings,
Had its counterpart hid in my heart,
Where memory, copying my labors,
Had cut deep with wearying smart.
So what could I do but to gather
My past once more to my breast,
And deep in my heart's hidden chambers,
Under memory's cross let her rest.
Had its counterpart hid in my heart,
Where memory, copying my labors,
Had cut deep with wearying smart.
So what could I do but to gather
My past once more to my breast,
And deep in my heart's hidden chambers,
Under memory's cross let her rest.
It were better I took her with me,
Than to linger beside her grave;
I had loved her very fondly,
And loved, too, the gifts she gave.
So now I shall keep her with me,—
My dead and beautiful Past;—
And whatever my Present and Future,
She is mine, while life shall last.
Than to linger beside her grave;
I had loved her very fondly,
And loved, too, the gifts she gave.
So now I shall keep her with me,—
My dead and beautiful Past;—
And whatever my Present and Future,
She is mine, while life shall last.
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