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280 ELIZABETH OAKES SMITH.

That till now I never knew
How his fibres round me grew--
Could not know how deep the sorrow 
Where Hope bringeth no to-morrow.

I struggled, knowing we must part,
I grieved to lift him from my heart,
Grieving much and struggling much, forth I brought him sorrowing--
Drooping hung his fainting head -- all adown his dainty wing,
Shrieked I with a wild and dark surprise--
For I saw the marble in Love's eyes--
Yet I hoped his soul would wait
As he oft had waited there--
Hovering though at Heaven's gate--
Could he leave me to despair!

Unfolded they the crystal door,
Where Love shall languish never more--
Weeping Love thy days are o'er. Lo! I lay thee on thy bier,
Wiping thus from thy dead cheek every vestige of a tear!
Love has perished -- hist, hist how they tell,
Beating pulse of mine, his funeral knell!
Love is dead, ay dead and gone,
Why should I be living on;--
Why be in this chamber sitting,
With but phantoms round me flitting!