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- Bread and Music
- by Conrad Aiken
- Music I heard with you was more than music,
- And bread I broke with you was more than bread;
- Now that I am without you, all is desolate;
- All that was once so beautiful is dead.
- Your hands once touched this table and this silver,
- And I have seen your fingers hold this glass.
- These things do not remember you, beloved,
- And yet your touch upon them will not pass.
- For it was in my heart you moved among them,
- And blessed them with your hands and with your eyes;
- And in my heart they will remember always,—
- They knew you once, O beautiful and wise.
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