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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.

Transcription Notes:
---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-06-28 07:33:00