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Margaret Tod Ritter
I have so loved you I can never find Rest from the thought of you in any place. Far have I left your cypress-bed behind, But not your hand’s light touch; but not your face. Only this moment did a voice contrive To make hope start up, quivering. I drew Close to the sound of it—you were alive A little space with laughter blowing through. You were alive, and then you were more dead Than ever you had been through all the years. I heard a voice and knew not what it said— Some simple trifle meant for other ears. No one to share this exile and this pain; No one to know that you have died again!