Here is no part
Of that we loved-
The tender heart
So quickly moved,
The wit, the laughter, and the grace
Of gesture, the beloved face.
Here is a vesture doffed:
Grey ashes, dim and soft.
In memory of her
Who could not be confined
Save in the loving mind
We scatter to the air
This precious residue.
O memory, be true.
Now blow, fair breezes, blow.
And go, dear ashes, go.
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