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Good-night! . . . my darling sleeps so sound

She cannot hear me where she lies;

White lilies watch the closed eyes,

Red roses guard the folded hands.

Good-night! O woman who once lay

Upon my breast, so still, so sweet

That all my pulses, throbbing, beat

And flamed -- I cannot touch you now.

Good-night, my own! God knows we loved

So well, that all things else seemed slight --

We part forever in the night,

We two poor souls who loved so well.

by Dame Mary Gilmore

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