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I been young I could have claimed to fold thee For many days against my eager breast; But, as things are, how can I hope to hold thee Once thou hast wakened from this fleeting rest?

Clear shone the moonlight, so that thou couldst find me, Yet not so clear that thou couldst see my face, Where in the shadow of the palms behind me I waited for thy steps, for thy embrace.

What reck I now my morning life was lonely? For widowed feet the ways are always rough. Though thou hast come to me at sunset only, Still thou hast come, my Lord, it is enough.

Ah, mine no more the glow of dawning beauty, The fragrance and the dainty gloss of youth, Worn by long years of solitude and duty, I have no bloom to offer thee in truth.

Yet, since these eyes of mine have never wandered, Still may they gleam with long forgotten light. Since in no wanton way my youth was squandered, Some sense of youth still clings to me to-night.

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