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And toil which gathered it; each with a brow And heart alike darkened by years and care. They met with cold words, and yet colder looks: Each was changed in himself, and yet each thought The other only changed, himself the same. The coldness bred dislike, and rivalry Came like the pestilence o'er some sweet thoughts That lingered yet, healthy and beautiful, Amid dark and unkindly ones. And they, Whose boyhood had not known one jarring word, Were strangers in their age: if their eyes met, 'Twas but to look contempt; and when they spoke, Their speech was wormwood!.... ....And this, this is life!