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If Sleep and Death be truly one,    And every spirit's folded bloom    Thro' all its intervital gloom In some long trance should slumber on;

Unconscious of the sliding hour,    Bare of the body, might it last,    And silent traces of the past Be all the colour of the flower:

So then were nothing lost to man;    So that still garden of the souls    In many a figured leaf enrolls The total world since life began;

And love will last as pure and whole    As when he loved me here in Time,    And at the spiritual prime Rewaken with the dawning soul.

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

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