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As the leaves that were withering and sere, And I cried...“ It was surely October


On this very night of last year
That I journeyed-I journeyed down here--
That I brought a dread burden down here-
On this night of all nights in the year,
Ah, what demon has tempted me here?
Well I know, now, this dim lake of Auber-

This misty mid region of Weir—
Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber,
This ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir."



I HEED not that my earthly lot

Hath-little of Earth in it—

That years of love have been forgot
In the hatred of a minute :
I mourn not that the desolate

Are happier, sweet, than I,
But that you sorrow for my fate
Who am a passer by.

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ECAUSE I feel that, in the heavens above,

The angels, whispering to one another,
Can find, among their burning terms of love,
None so devotional as that of "Mother,"
Therefore by that dear name I long have called you———.
You who are more than mother unto me,

And fill my heart of hearts, where Death installed you
In setting my Virginia's spirit free.

My mother-my own mother, who died early,

Was but the mother of myself; but you

Are mother to the one I loved so dearly,

And thus are dearer than the mother I knew

By that infinity with which my wife
Was dearer to my soul than its soul-life.

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HEAR the sledges with the bells— Silver bells! What a world of merriment their melody foretells ! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,

In the icy air of night!

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