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This is an OCR edition with typos.
Excerpt from book:
BALLADE OF DEAD FRIENDS As we the withered ferns By the roadway lying, Time, the jester, spurns All our prayers and prying All our tears and sighing, Sorrows change, and woe All our where-and-whying For friends that come and go. Life awakes and burns, Age and death defying, Till at last it learns All but Love is dying; Love 's the trade we 're plying, God has willed it so; Shrouds are what we're buying For friends that come and go. BALLADE OF DEAD FRIENDS Man forever yearns For the thing that "s flying. Everywhere he turns, Men to dust are drying, Dust that wanders, eying (With eyes that hardly glow) New faces, dimly spying For friends that come and go. ENVOY And thus we all are nighing The truth we fear to know: Death will end our crying For friends that come and go. Up from the street and the crowds that went, Morning and midnight, to and fro, Still was the room where his days he spent, And the stars were bleak, and the nights were slow. Year after year, with his dream shut fast, He suffered and strove till his eyes were dim, For the love that his brushes had earned at last, And the whole world rang with the praise of him. But he cloaked his triumph, and searched, instead, Till his cheeks were sere and his hairs were gray. " There are women enough, God knows,"' he said. . . . " There are stars enough when the sun 's away." Then he went back to the same still room That had held his dream in the long ago, When he buried his days in a nameless tomb, Andthe stars were bleak, and the nights were slow. And a passionate humor seized him there Seized him and held him until there grew Like life on his canvas, glowing and fair, A perilous face and an angel's, too. ...
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