«Epitaphs of the War». 1914-1918. 31. The Bridegroom Call me not false, beloved, If, from thy scarce-known breast So little time removed, In other arms I rest. For this more ancient bride, Whom coldly I embrace, Was constant at my side Before I saw thy face. Our marriage, often set— By miracle delayed— At last is consummate, And cannot be unmade. Live, then, whom Life shall cure, Almost, of Memory, And leave us to endure Its immortality. |
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