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And the rooks in solemn hosts
Gather and drift like rain.
Then at last I feel and know
That all my memories
As they wavered and flickered in endless flow
Were premonitions sent long ago
Of nothing else than this!
Than that I with you by my side,
Wraith-like but lovely still,
Should follow the river and drift and glide,
Past forest and forest — past hill and hill;
Till the river we follow grows one with the sea.
Ah, the pain again — it will never be!
