Awake, alone, it counts its father's years -- How few are left -- its mother's. Ah, how well It knows of death, in tears.
If any of the three -- Parents and child -- believe they have prevailed To keep the secret of mortality, I know that two have failed.
The third, the lonely, keeps One secret -- a child's knowledge. When they come At night to ask wherefore the sweet one weeps, Those hidden lips are dumb.
End of title
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