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Anne Reeve Aldrich
How can it be that I forget The way he phrased my doom, When I recall the arabesques That carpeted the room? How can it be that I forget His look and mein that hour, When I recall I wore a rose, And still can smell the flower? How can it be that I forget Those words that were his last, When I recall the tune a man Was whistling as he passed? These things are what we keep from life’s Supremest joy or pain; For memory locks her chaff in bins And throws away the grain.