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 RUST me, dearest. Could I ask it Did a shadow of untruth Rear its ghostly front before me, Even from my vanished youth ? Were my life not crystal clear, I would turn and leave you, dear. Trust me, only for a little : I would trust you, dear, for aye, With no plighted troth upon you, With your thoughts all free to stray. Could your heart find fitter rest, Mine should still keep empty nest.