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DEATH, IN LIFE

 ("Ceux-ci partent.") 
 
 {Bk. III. v., February, 1843.} 


 We pass—these sleep 
 Beneath the shade where deep-leaved boughs 
 Bend o'er the furrows the Great Reaper ploughs, 
 And gentle summer winds in many sweep 
 Whirl in eddying waves 
 The dead leaves o'er the graves. 
 
 And the living sigh: 
 Forgotten ones, so soon your memories die. 
 Ye never more may list the wild bird's song, 
 Or mingle in the crowded city-throng. 
 Ye must ever dwell in gloom, 
 'Mid the silence of the tomb. 
 
 And the dead reply: 
 God giveth us His life. Ye die, 
 Your barren lives are tilled with tears, 
 For glory, ye are clad with fears. 
 Oh, living ones! oh, earthly shades! 
 We live; your beauty clouds and fades. 


 





Poem by Victor Hugo
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