Of all these things that I have loved so long,
Not one will know when I am dead; not one
Will mourn for me.
The thrush's song
Will be as sweet when I am gone; the sun
Will rise as splendidly
In flushed horizons; and the purple hills
Will be as beautiful, when evening fills
With stars and mist and shadows. There will be
The same still waters, when my life is done.
Of all these things that I have loved, not one
Will mourn for me.
Margaret De Laughter.
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