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1865–1914

Her dead face seems to rise up before him.

Madison Julius Cawein

The face that I said farewell to, Pillowed a flower on flowers, Comes back with its eyes to tell to My soul what its lips would spell too —

Comes back to me at hours!— Dear, is your heart still daggered There by something amiss? Love — is he still a laggard?

Hope — is her face still haggard Tell me what it is! Must we say “gone forever”? Or will it all come true?

Shall I attain to you ever? And, o'er the doubts that sever, Rise to the truth that's you? Love, in my flesh so fearful,

Medicine me this pain!— Love, with the eyes so tearful, How can my soul be cheerful, Seeing its joy is slain!

Gone!—‘ twas only a vision!— Gone! like a thought, a gleam!— Such to our indecision Utter no empty mission,

Truer than that they seem.

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Her dead face seems to rise up before him. · Madison Julius Cawein · Poetry Cove