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    An Epitaph

    by Herman Melville
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    When Sunday tidings from the front
    Made pale the priest and people,
    And heavily the blessing went,
    And bells were dumb in the steeple;
    The Soldier's widow (summering sweerly here,
    In shade by waving beeches lent)
    Felt deep at heart her faith content,
    And priest and people borrowed of her cheer.

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