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1850–1894

XLI

Robert Louis Stevenson

We uncommiserate pass into the night From the loud banquet, and departing leave A tremor in men’ s memories, faint and sweet And frail as music. Features of our face,

The tones of the voice, the touch of the loved hand, Perish and vanish, one by one, from earth: Meanwhile, in the hall of song, the multitude Applauds the new performer. One, perchance,

One ultimate survivor lingers on, And smiles, and to his ancient heart recalls The long forgotten. Ere the morrow die, He too, returning, through the curtain comes,

And the new age forgets us and goes on.

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XLI · Robert Louis Stevenson · Poetry Cove