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1865–1914

FINALE.

Madison Julius Cawein

So let it be. Thou wilt not say‘ t was I! Here in life's temple, where thy soul may see, Look how the beauty of our love doth lie, Shattered in shards, a dead divinity!

Approach: kneel down: yea, render up one sigh! This is the end. What need to tell it thee! So let it be. So let it be. Care, who hath stood with him,

And sorrow, who sat by him deified, For whom his face made comfort, lo! how dim They heap his altar which they can not hide, While memory's lamp swings o'er it, burning slim.

This is the end. What shall be said beside? So let it be. So let it be. Did we not drain the wine, Red, of love's sacramental chalice, when

He laid sweet sanction on thy lips and mine? Dash it aside! Lo, who will fill again Now it is empty of the god divine! This is the end. Yea, let us say Amen.

So let it be.

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FINALE. · Madison Julius Cawein · Poetry Cove