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REVERIE.

Couldst thou, - couldst thou, dear, forget?

Many months I 've vainly waited,

Bright the hopes that I have spun,

And to-morrow I am fated

For the death-life of a nun!"

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That was all! . . . An hour after

I was strolling once again,

In the midst of mirth and laughter

And the pleasure-seeking train.

* * * * *

Thus the thoughts come quickly flitting

Like old comrades from afar,

To my mind, as I am sitting

Slowly puffing my cigar.

And I oft recall the lady

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