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J. D. R.
By Oliver Wendell Holmes
The friends that are, and friends that were,
What shallow waves divide!
I miss the form for many a year
Still seated at my side.
I miss him, yet I feel him still
Amidst our faithful band,
As if not death itself could chill
The warmth of friendship's hand.
His story other lips may tell, -
For me the veil is drawn;
I only knew he loved me well,
He loved me - and is gone!
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