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 Ah, if I knew how thou wilt deal with me. Who knows? who knows? They tell me I am fair, And any beauty that I may possess Have I not kept it for thy sake with care?

To guard a pallor that might blush for thee, Shading the sunrays from this face of mine, Smoothing my hands with milk from elder-flowers Lest the rough skin should jar the silk of thine.

Ah, how I loved thee, even as a child Watching thee ride across the village square, The curls blown backwards from thy vivid face Thy pennons lifted on the summer air.

How I have envied brides who passed thy gates, And when I heard the village gossips say Thou wert not as thy fathers; oft refused To claim thy privilege, I turned away

So glad and yet so sad,—it well may be They will not notice me, those eyes of thine; Yet surely love will find some soft appeal To draw their gaze to me, thy lips to mine.

My cousin loves me; in his kindly eyes Lies the clear promise of a calm content. I, wedding him, ensure his happiness As thou ensurest mine, shouldst thou consent.

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