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Now blushed into full beauty. There was one Whom she loved tenderly in days now gone! She was not dancing gaily with the rest: A rose-cheeked child within her arms was prest; And it had twined its small hands in the hair That clustered o'er its mother's brow: as fair As buds in spring. She gave her laughing dove To one who clasped it with a father's love; And if a painter's eye had sought a scene Of love in its most perfect loveliness— Of childhood, and of wedded happiness,— He would have painted the sweet ! But shrank from them, and she strayed Through a small grove of cypresses, whose shade Hung o'er a burying-ground, where the low stone And the gray cross recorded those now gone!