By Arthur Hugh Clough
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The labor and the wounds are vain,
And as things have been they remain.
It may be, in yon smoke concealed,
And, but for you, possess the field.
Seem here, no painful inch to gain,
Comes silent, flooding in, the main.
When daylight comes, comes in the light,
But westward, look, the land is bright.
In the Novel this poem was read by Hester at Claire's funeral.