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Canto LVII

Peace; come away: the song of woe    Is after all an earthly song:    Peace; come away: we do him wrong To sing so wildly: let us go.

Come; let us go: your cheeks are pale;    But half my life I leave behind:    Methinks my friend is richly shrined; But I shall pass; my work will fail.

Yet in these ears, till hearing dies,    One set slow bell will seem to toll    The passing of the sweetest soul That ever look'd with human eyes.

I hear it now, and o'er and o'er,    Eternal greetings to the dead;    And "Ave, Ave, Ave," said, "Adieu, adieu," for evermore.

-Alfred Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam A. H. H., Canto LVII

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