A Death-Day Recalled

Beeny did not quiver,
 Juliot grew not gray,
Thin Valency’s river
 Held its wonted way.
Bos seemed not to utter
 Dimmest note of dirge,
Targan mouth a mutter
 To its creamy surge.

Yet though these, unheeding,
 Listless, passed the hour
Of her spirit’s speeding,
 She had, in her flower,
Sought and loved the places —
 Much and often pined
For their lonely faces
 When in towns confined.

Why did not Valency
 In his purl deplore
One whose haunts were whence he
 Drew his limpid store?
Why did Bos not thunder
 Targan apprehend
Body and breath were sunder
 Of their former friend?

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