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Yet as her last step left the strand, Gheraldi then might feel her hand Grow cold, and tremble in his own: He watched her lip, its smile was flown; Her cheek was pale, as if with fears; Her blue eyes darkened with their tears: He prest her rosebud mouth to his, Blush, smile, returned to grace that kiss; She had not power to weep, yet know She was his own, come weal come wo. Oh, who—reposed on some fond breast, Love's own delicious place of rest— Reading faith in the watching eyes, Feeling the heart beat with its sighs, Could know regrets, or doubts, or cares, That we had bound our fate with theirs!