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REQUIEM.

THE low tide creeps along the shore;

The sun is in the sea;

But sea and sun brood darkness, for

My friend has gone from me.

What matter tho' the restless pines

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Greet all salt winds that blow,

If that still face which westward shines

Be not the face I know?

O riding sun, O sinking sun!

O waves that rise and fall

Above the voiceless lips of one

Who heeds you not at all!

So let him sleep, mourn'd only with

Wind-whispers of the sea

About that unseen monolith -

With nature's threnody!

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