Ay, we shall laugh at those who deem Our hearts are sundered! Listen, sweet, The tripping of the wind’s swift feet

Along the by-ways of our dream,

And hark the whisper of the rose Wilding that blows.

Oh, still you love those simple things, And still you love them more with me; The grave has won no victory;

It could not clasp your shining wings, '

It could not keep you from my side, Dear and my bride!

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