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It's the oddest thing, I don't recall putting this poetry book in my trunk, I suppose it must have got mixed in with my school textbooks by accident. Anyway I haven't really read through it in a while, and remember this one of particular interest when I was younger.
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That warmed life's early hours is past,
Your loving fingers seek for mine
And hold them close-at last-at last!
Not oft the robin comes to build
Its nest upon the leafless bough
By autumn robbed, by winter chilled,-
But you, dear heart, you love me now.
Though there are shadows on my brow
And furrows on my cheek, in truth,-
The marks where Time's remorseless plough
Broke up the blooming sward of Youth,-
Though fled is every girlish grace
Might win or hold a lover's vow,
Despite my sad and faded face,
And darkened heart, you love me now!
I count no more my wasted tears;
They left no echo of their fall;
I mourn no more my lonesome years;
This blessed hour atones for all.
I fear not all that Time or Fate
May bring to burden heart or brow,-
Strong in the love that came so late,
Our souls shall keep it always now!
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It seems the poetic flare is contageous.
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