< Page:Pocahontas, and Other Poems.djvu
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THE TOMB OF JOSEPHINE.
169
And then, behold, two clasping hands
Were from that marble thrust,
And strange their living freshness gleam'd
Amid that sculptur'd dust;
Those hands a monument have deck'd
Where pausing pilgrims come;
That voice a filial requiem pour'd
When all the world was dumb.
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