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“He last, late guest To the gate we followed; Goodbye – and the rest The night-wind swallowed. House, garden, street, Lay tenfold gloomy, Where accents sweet Had made music to me. It was but a feast With the dark coming on; She was but a guest – And now, she is gone.” — Henrik Ibsen
He last, late guest
To the gate we followed;
Goodbye – and the rest
The night-wind swallowed.
House, garden, street,
Lay tenfold gloomy,
Where accents sweet
Had made music to me.
It was but a feast
With the dark coming on;
She was but a guest –
And now, she is gone.