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[89] There have been men whose mighty deeds,
     On cold historic pages,
Are driven like October seeds
     Along the reaching ages;

Whose statues stand like sentinels
     On whitened shafts and bases,
Whose ashes rest in marble cells
     And sepulchers and vases;

But he who in this Autumn time
     Was lost beyond the river,
Has found a glory path to climb,
     Forever and forever!

And monumental marble here,
     With deeds of honor graven,
What can it be to one so near
     The inner gates of Heaven?

By still Potomac's margin dun,
     Where shrilly calls the plover,
Where lean the heights of Arlington
     Its glassing water over.

No Autumn voices haunt the moles,
     No breezy covert ripples,
No longer whirl the leaves in shoals
     Beneath the stately maples:

Some vandal's axe has shorn the crest,
     The woody slopes are shaven,
No longer builds the dove her nest
     Where mournful croaks the raven;

But down the Southland's fruity plain
     The leaves are all a-quiver,
And there his memory shall reign
     Forever and forever!

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Arlington (Virginia, United States) (1)

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