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Browsing named entities in The Daily Dispatch: February 23, 1861., [Electronic resource]. You can also browse the collection for Cary or search for Cary in all documents.
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Dead Love.by PhŒbe Cary. We are face to face, and between us here Is the love we thought could never die; Why has it only lived a year?
Who has murdered it — you or I?
No matter who — the deed was done by one or both, and there it lies: The smile from the lip forever gone, And darkness over the beautiful eyes.
Our love is dead, and our hope is wrecked; So what does it profit to talk and rave, Whether it perished by my neglect, Or whether your cruelty dug its grave!
Why should you say that I am to blame, Or why should I charge the sin on you?
Our work is before us all the same, And the guilt of it lies between us two. We have praised our love for its beauty and grace, Now we stand here, and hardly dare To turn the face-cloth back from the face, And see the thing that is hidden there.
Yet look!
ah, that heart has beat its last, And the beautiful life of our life is o'er, And when we have buried and left the past, We two, together can walk no more.
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