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XII.
IN VAIN.
I cannot live with you,
It would be life,
And life is over there
Behind the shelf
The sexton keeps the key to,
Putting up
Our life, his porcelain,
Like a cup
Discarded of the housewife,
Quaint or broken;
A new Sèvres pleases,
Old ones crack.
I could not die with you,
For one must wait
To shut the other's gaze down,—
You could not.
