Death is not kind, and there can be no returning,
No one came back from there to sweet earth in some fragrant night,
And no one recovered to take these lanes to find the sea, and bending
Again to breathe the same honeysuckle, low and white.
Who will not yearn to come down at night to these resounding beaches and sand bright
And listen to the long gentle thunder; the enigmatic murmur of the sea,
No one ever left the grave for a single hour in the wide starlight
To feel again; to be happy with the beauty around; don't tell me the dead are free.
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