Death ’s but one more to-morrow. Thou art gray
With many a death of many a yesterday.
O yearning heart that lacked the athlete’s force
And, stumbling, fell upon the beaten course,
And looked, and saw with ever glazing eyes
Some lower soul that seemed to win the prize!
Lo, Death, the just, who comes to all alike,
Life’s sorry scales of...
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So sweet love seemed that April morn,
When first we kissed beside the thorn,
So strangely sweet, it was not strange
We thought that love could never change.But I can tell—let truth be told—
That love will change in growing old;
Though day by day is naught to see,
So delicate his motions be.And in the end ’t will come to pass...