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Late Lyrics and Earlier

by Thomas Hardy

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Her Temple

Dear, think not that they will forget you:
   —If craftsmanly art should be mine
I will build up a temple, and set you
      Therein as its shrine.

They may say: “Why a woman such honour?”
   —Be told, “O, so sweet was her fame,
That a man heaped this splendour upon her;
      None now knows his name.”

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