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483 AMELIA B. WELBY. For every tear that gems her eye, From her young bosom flows Like dew-drops from a golden star, or perfume from a rose. For e'en in life's delicious spring, We oft have memories That throw around our sunny hearts A transient cloud of sight; For a wondrous change within the heart At that sweet time is wrought, When on the heart is softly laid A spell of deeper thought. And she has reach's that lovely time, That sweet poetic age, When to the eye each floweret's leaf Seems like a glowing page; For a beauty and a mystery About the heart are thrown, When childhood's merry laughter yields To girlhood's softer tone. I do not know if round her heart Love yet hath thrown his wing, I rather think she's like myself, An April-hearted thing; I only know that she is fair, And loves me passing well; But who this gently maiden is I fee not free to tell.
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Reopened for Editing 2023-06-28 07:33:00