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And the rooks in solemn hosts
   Gather and drift like rain.
Then at last I feel and know
   That all my memories
As they wavered and flickered in endless flow
   Were premonitions sent long ago
Of nothing else than this!
   Than that I with you by my side,
Wraith-like but lovely still,
   Should follow the river and drift and glide,
Past forest and forest — past hill and hill;
   Till the river we follow grows one with the sea.
Ah, the pain again — it will never be!