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1865–1914

She writes to him to come to her.

Madison Julius Cawein

Dead lie the dreams we cherished, The dreams we loved so well; Like forest leaves they perished, Like autumn leaves they fell.

Alas! that dreams so soon should pass! Alas! Alas! The stream lies bleak and arid That once went singing on;

The flowers once that varied Its banks are dead and gone: Where these were once are thorns and thirst — The place is curst.

Come to me; I am lonely: Forgive what you have heard.— Come to me; if for only One last sad parting word:

For one last word before the pall Falls over all. The day and hour are suited For what I'd say to you

Of love that I uprooted — But I have suffered too! Come to me; I would say good-by Before I die.

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