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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!