Page:Poems Sackville.djvu/52

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THE DEATH OF BEATRICE
Seeing that Death spares not the Spring,
But even as of Autumn makes
Thereof continuous harvesting—
How should he strike not for our sakes
Who has no care for anything?

Yet no wise as an enemy
Comes Death—but deeming that the soul
Is held in shamed captivity
Beneath the body's dark control—
He being stronger sets it free.

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