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To the memory of Charles LambEdit

   When stark oblivion froze above their names
      Whose glory shone round Shakespeare's, bright as now,
   One eye beheld their light shine full as fame's,
      One hand unveiled it: this did none but thou.
   Love, stronger than forgetfulness and sleep,
      Rose, and bade memory rise, and England hear:
   And all the harvest left so long to reap
      Shone ripe and rich in every sheaf and ear.

   A child it was who first by grace of thine
   Communed with gods who share with thee their shrine:
      Elder than thou wast ever now I am,
   Now that I lay before thee in thanksgiving
   Praise of dead men divine and everliving
      Whose praise is thine as thine is theirs, Charles Lamb.


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