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ANNY was younger once than she is now,
 * And prettier of course; I do not mean

To say that there are wrinkles on her brow;
 * Yet, to be candid, she is past eighteen—

Perhaps past twenty—but the girl is shy About her age, and Heaven forbid that I

Should get myself in trouble by revealing
 * A secret of this sort; I have too long

Loved pretty women with a poet's feeling,
 * And when a boy, in day-dream and in song,

Have knelt me down and worshipped them: alas! They never thanked me for't—but let that pass.