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In one vain moment's idleness." 'Tis strange How the heart, overpress'd with its own thoughts,— And what oppresses the young heart like love?— Grows superstitious, finds similitudes And boding fears in every change and chance. She bow'd her face upon her hands and wept, When suddenly her bright hair was flung back, Her cheek was turn'd to crimson, and the tears Lay like dew on the rose. "Mine ! What! weeping, love? I am not late to-night; Our meeting star but trembles in the sky, In light as glistening as thine own sweet eyes."   His words had a strange sound; she had forgot Her sorrow and its cause in the deep joy His presence brought. She gazed upon his face, As if 'twould vanish if she did not gaze;