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HEAVILY O'ER US THE SHADOWS ARE CLOSING.
O'er my cold heart when the long grass is waving,
Swept by the night-breeze that sighs round my head,
Mourn not for one whom them shrinkest from saving,
Calm let me rest in that sorrowless bed.
Misery steeping
My lone life in weeping,
Harms not the sleeping
The sleep of the Dead.

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