- Softly, swiftly,
The light years pass,___
Fugitive as shadows
On the grass.
- Youth was their first gift, gallantly free;
Love was the gift they denied to me.
Grief was their great gift, bitterly clean___
Yet there is their last gift, cool, serene.
- Swiftly, softly,
The gray years fall.
I shall hold their last gift
Worth them all.
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