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The Oldest Drama

by
 "It fell on a day, that he went out to his father to the reapers.
And he said unto his father, My head, my head.
And he said to a lad, Carry him to his mother.
And .
.
.
he sat on her knees till noon, and then died.
And she went up, and laid him on the bed.
.
.
.
And shut the door upon him and went out.
" Immortal story that no mother's heart Ev'n yet can read, nor feel the biting pain That rent her soul! Immortal not by art Which makes a long past sorrow sting again Like grief of yesterday: but since it said In simplest word the truth which all may see, Where any mother sobs above her dead And plays anew the silent tragedy.

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