< Page:In memoriam (IA inmemoriam00tennrich).pdf
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ciii.
This holly by the cottage-eave,
To night, ungather'd, shall it stand:
We live within the stranger's land,
And strangely falls our Christmas eve.
Our father's dust is left alone
And silent under other snows:
There in due time the woodbine blows,
The violet comes, but we are gone.
No more shall wayward grief abuse
The genial hour with mask and mime;
For change of place, like growth of time,
Has broke the bond of dying use.
Let cares that petty shadows cast,
By which our lives are chiefly proved,
A little spare the night I loved,
And hold it solemn to the past.
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