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features do not wear the light They wore in happier days; Though still there may be much to love, There's little left to praise.

The rose has faded from thy cheek— There's scarce a blush left now; And there's a dark and weary sign Upon thine altered brow.

Thy raven hair is dashed with gray, Thine eyes are dim with tears; And care, before thy youth is past, Has done the work of years.