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That made each leaf a treasure. And the tree Had two slight words graven upon its stem— The broken heart's last record of its faith— "!".... ...I learnt the history of the lovely picture: It was a peasant girls', whose soul was given To one as far above her as the pine Towers o'er the lowly violet; yet still She loved, and was beloved again—ere yet The many trammels of the world were flung Around a heart, whose first and latest pulse Throbbed but for beauty: him, the young, the brave Chivalrous Prince, whose name in after-years A nation was to worship—that young heart Beat with its first wild passion—that pure feeling Life only once may know. I will not dwell