The New Faces
| If you, that have grown old, were the first dead, |
| Neither catalpa tree nor scented lime |
| Should hear my living feet, nor would I tread |
| Where we wrought that shall break the teeth of Time. |
| Let the new faces play what tricks they will |
| In the old rooms; night can outbalance day, |
| Our shadows rove the garden gravel still, |
| The living seem more shadowy than they. |
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