Poems and Extracts/As those we love decay, we die in part

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As those we love decay, we die in part.
String after string is severed from the heart;
'Till loos'n'd life, at last but breathing clay
Without one pang is glad to fall away.
Unhappy he who latest feels the blow,
Whose eyes have wept o'er every friend laid low,
Dragged lingering on from partial death to death,
'Till, dying, all he can resign is breath.