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AFTERWARDS

I
When I am dead do not weep,
For death is the least of all ills,
But say—Let him tranquilly sleep
The sleep that all agony stills;
He watched the strange pageant of life
Through many wonderful years;
He has done now with passion and strife,
He has done now with hopes and with fears.

II
Rejoice that I lived if you will,
But oh! for my death never grieve,
For then naught can touch me that's ill,
And no loss can my spirit bereave:
While we live joy is shadowed with fear,
And pleasure is purchased with pain;
Whatever to us is most dear
Fate forbids us to reach or retain.

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