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I know that He exists.
Somewhere—in Silence
He has hid his rare life
From our gross eyes

'Tis an instant's play
'Tis a fond Ambush
Just to make Bliss
Earn her own surprise!

But—should the play
Prove piercing earnest
Should the glee—glaze
In Death's—stiff—stare

Would not the fun
Look too expensive!
Would not the jest
Have crawled too far!