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 They say there's a high windless world and strange,
Out of the wash of days and temporal tide,
Where Faith and Good, Wisdom and Truth abide,
`Aeterna corpora', subject to no change.
There the sure suns of these pale shadows move; There stand the immortal ensigns of our war; Our melting flesh fixed Beauty there, a star, And perishing hearts, imperishable Love.
Dear, we know only that we sigh, kiss, smile; Each kiss lasts but the kissing; and grief goes over; Love has no habitation but the heart.
Poor straws! on the dark flood we catch awhile, Cling, and are borne into the night apart.
The laugh dies with the lips, `Love' with the lover.

by Rupert Brooke
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