Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - XII
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been if you had lived and been mine, and it seems to me that
a boundless joy has been wasted. Oh, you are dead, and your
death has made me so poor. I have only my dream of you,
but if I compare my poverty with others’ riches it is ever so
much more glorious. Not to save my life would I cease to love
you and dream of you and mourn you.
Gunnar Heggen did not know that in the great storm of his
heart he had lifted his arms towards heaven and was whispering
to himself. The anemones he had picked were still in his hand,
but he did not know it.
The soldiers on the wall laughed at him, but he did not see.
He pressed the flowers to his heart, and whispered gently to
himself as he walked slowly from the grave toward the cypress
grove.
THE END
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