Page:Poems Clark.djvu/68

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But I found my cross with its carvings,
Had its counterpart hid in my heart,
Where memory, copying my labors,
Had cut deep with wearying smart.
So what could I do but to gather
My past once more to my breast,
And deep in my heart's hidden chambers,
Under memory's cross let her rest.

It were better I took her with me,
Than to linger beside her grave;
I had loved her very fondly,
And loved, too, the gifts she gave.
So now I shall keep her with me,—
My dead and beautiful Past;—
And whatever my Present and Future,
She is mine, while life shall last.

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