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sitteth in the sunshine, old and gray,
 * Her faded kerchief crossed upon her breast,
 * Her withered form in sober colors dressed,

Her eyes deep-sunken in far memory; She scarcely sees the children at their play,
 * But looks beyond them to the crimsoning west—
 * And still beyond, where everlasting rest

Remains to close and crown her little day.

But on her tranquil and unconscious face,
 * In lines engraved by joy no less than tears,

The story of her pilgrimage we trace,
 * For Youth, quick-flying, left his dearer part,
 * And all the fragrance of the vanished years.
 * Imperishable, lies within her heart.