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1 82 POEMS.
��XLIV.
T F I may have it when it 's dead
- I will contented be ;
If just as soon as breath is out It shall belong to me,
Until they lock it in the grave,
'T is bliss I cannot weigh, For though they lock thee in the grave,
Myself can hold the key.
Think of it, lover ! I and thee Permitted face to face to be ;
After a life, a death we '11 say, For death was that, and this is thee.
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