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“Not though you die to-night, O Sweet, and wail, A spectre at my door, Shall mortal Fear make Love immortal fail -- I shall but love you more, Who, from Death's House returning, give me still One moment's comfort in my matchless ill.” — Rudyard Kipling
Not though you die to-night,
O Sweet, and wail,
A spectre at my door,
Shall mortal Fear make Love immortal fail -- I shall but love you more,
Who, from Death's House returning,
give me still One moment's comfort in my matchless ill.