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Alas for ! bloom and beam, Music and mirth, came like a dream, In which she mingled not,—apart From all in heaviness of heart. There were soft tales pour'd in her ear, She look'd on many a cavalier, Wander'd her eye round the glad scene, It was as if they had not been;— To ear, eye, heart, there only came Her image,  name!

There is a flower, a snow-white flower, Fragile as if a morning shower Would end its being, and the earth Forget to what it gave a birth; And it looks innocent and pale, Slight as the least force could avail