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'Tis vanity, ."—Mournfully She shook the raven tresses from her brow, As if she felt their darkness omen-like. "Speak not of this to me, nor bid me think; It is such pain to dwell upon myself; And know how different I am from all I once dream'd I could be. Fame! stirring fame! I work no longer miracles for thee. I am as one who sought at early dawn To climb with fiery speed some lofty hill: His feet are strong in eagerness and youth; His limbs are braced by the fresh morning air, And all seems possible:—this cannot last. The way grows steeper, obstacles arise, And unkind thwartings from companions near. The height is truer measured, having traced