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IF he were living—dare I ask?And how if he were dead?And so around the words I wentOf meeting them afraid.
I hinted changes, lapse of time,The surfaces of yearsI touched with caution, lest they slitAnd show me to my fears.
Reverted to adjoining livesAdroitly turning outWherever I suspected graves—'Twas prudenter, I thought.
And He—I rushed with sudden forceIn face of the suspense—"Was buried"—"Buried!" "He!" My life just holds the trench.
