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In Tenebris

“Percussus sum sicut foenum, et aruit cor meum.” —Ps. ci.

Wintertime nighs;
But my bereavement—pain
It cannot bring again:
           Twice no one dies.
 
           Flower—petals flee;
But, since it once hath been,
No more that severing scene
           Can harrow me.
 
           Birds faint in dread:
I shall not lose old strength
In the lone frost’s black length:
           Strength long since fled!
 
           Leaves freeze to dun;
But friends can not turn cold
This season as of old
           For him with none.
 
           Tempests may scath;
But love can not make smart
Again this year his heart
           Who no heart hath.
 
           Black is night’s cope;
But death will not appal
One who, past doubtings all,
           Waits in unhope.
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