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Poetry of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow



When the prime mover of my many sighs
  Heaven took through death from out her earthly place,
  Nature, that never made so fair a face,
  Remained ashamed, and tears were in all eyes.
O fate, unheeding my impassioned cries!
  O hopes fallacious!  O thou spirit of grace,
  Where art thou now?  Earth holds in its embrace
  Thy lovely limbs, thy holy thoughts the skies.
Vainly did cruel death attempt to stay
  The rumor of thy virtuous renown,
  That Lethe's waters could not wash away!
A thousand leaves, since he hath stricken thee down,
  Speak of thee, nor to thee could Heaven convey,
  Except through death, a refuge and a crown.