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For fifteen minutes more or less,And "dust to dust" they read above him.Now who had gained in bitterness—For not one soul was there to love him?
They gaped upon the shining floors,Their eyes scanned ceiling heights and blocked them.When all was done, they shut the doorsAnd shrugged their shoulders as they locked them.
The house is charming now with weedsSprung all about, the steps are mellowWith little grass and flower-seedsDrifting across their sun-stained yellow.
Empty it stands and so has stoodMore years than the town clerk can tell,No legend has it he was good,No tale reports that he did well.
They tried to sell it, off and on,But not a person wants to buy,Though visitors who've come and goneRemember it against the skyIn shrewd and sweet proportions glowingAbove a flight of marble steps where grass is growing.
The New RepublicAmy Lowell


TEXAS
I went a-riding, a-riding,Over a great long plain,And the plain went a-sliding, a-slidingAway from my bridle-rein.

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