English poetry

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At Ease

Most wounds can Time repair;
But some are mortal these:
For a broken heart there is no balm,
No cure for a heart at ease

At ease, but cold as stone,
Though the intellect spin on,
And the feat and practiced face may show
Nought of the life that is gone;

But smiles, as by habit taught;
And sighs, as by custom led;
And the soul within is safe from damnation,
Since it is dead.

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Poem At Ease - Walter De La Mare