< Page:In memoriam (IA inmemoriam00tennrich).pdf
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63
Yet oft when sundown skirts the moor
An inner trouble I behold,
A spectral doubt which makes me cold,
That I shall be thy mate no more,
Tho' following with an upward mind
The wonders that have come to thee,
Thro' all the secular to be,
But evermore a life behind.
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