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WE have our tears. This is grief's anodyne,
To know that tears a-many are in store.
And hearts did know them faithful, even before
All dreams had faded. To the first of mine
My wistful mother said: "How many more?"


We have our tears, a mystery that is past
Our fathoming. Child, how I pity thee
To see thee waste them foolishly and fast,
And with no fear of drying up the last!
Yet this is worth being guarded zealously!

 

No, not the flowers, no, not the summer will
So tenderly console us, only they.
They soothed us young, and they console us still,
Faithful and vigilant so many a day;
And inward weep when eyes no more will fill.