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And out again I curve and flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
Yes, men may come and go; and these are gone, All gone. My dearest brother, Edmund, sleeps, Not by the well-known stream and rustic spire, But unfamiliar Arno, and the dome
Of Brunelleschi; sleeps in peace and he,
Poor Philip, of all his lavish waste of words
I scraped the lichen from it: Katie walks
By the long wash of Australasian seas
Far off, and holds her head to other stars,
So Lawrence Aylmer, seated on a style
In the long hedge, and rolling in his mind.
Old waifs of rhyme, and bowing o'er the brook
A tonsured head in middle age forlorn,
Mused, and was mute. On a sudden a low breath
Of tender air made tremble in the hedge
The fragile bindweed-bells and briony rings;
In gloss and hue the chestnut, when the shell
Divides threefold to show the fruit within :
Then, wondering, ask'd her 'Are you from the
'Yes' answer'd she. 'Pray stay a little pardon
What do they call you?' 'Katie.'
What surname?' 'Willows.' "No!' 'That is
'Indeed!' and here he look'd so self-perplext,
That Katie laugh'd, and laughing blush'd, till he Laugh'd also, but as one before he wakes,
Who feels a glimmering strangeness in his dream.
Then looking at her; "Too happy, fresh and fair, Too fresh and fair in our sad world's best bloom,
To be the ghost of one who bore your name
About these meadows, twenty years ago.'
'Have you not heard?' said Katie, 'we came
We bought the farm we tenanted before.
Am I so like her? so they said on board.
Sir, if you knew her in her English days,
My mother, as it seems you did, the days
But she-you will be welcome-O, come in!'