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When the Rose is Faded

 When the rose is faded, 
Memory may still dwell on 
Her beauty shadowed, 
And the sweet smell gone.
That vanishing loveliness, That burdening breath, No bond of life hath then, Nor grief of death.
'Tis the immortal thought Whose passion still Makes the changing The unchangeable.
Oh, thus thy beauty, Loveliest on earth to me, Dark with no sorrow, shines And burns, with thee.

by Walter de la Mare
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