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by Unknown

[¹] Copyright, Roberts Bros.

HEN I am dust, and thou art quick and glad.

Bethink thee, sometimes, what good days we had,

What happy days, beside the shining seas,

Or by the twilight fire, in careless ease,

Reading the rhymes of some old poet lover,

Or whispering our own love-story over.

When thou hast mourned for me a seemly space,

And set another in my vacant place,