And he tenderly asks me the reason
And fears that I may not be well, -
But that secret I never may mention,
To Reginald never may tell!
And so I suppose I must struggle
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To the end of this terrible life,
Hiding all thoughts of what might be,
Performing the duties of wife!
'Tis thus that the world, base and cruel,
Repays us for anguish and loss;
It barters our hopes for a fortune,
And chides if we find it but dross.