Yes, thou art gone! and round me too the night
In ever-nearing circle weaves her shade.
I see her veil draw soft across the day,
I feel her slowly chilling breath invade
The cheek grown thin, the brown hair sprent with grey;
I feel her finger light
Laid pausefully upon lifes headlong train;
The foot less prompt to meet the morning dew,
The heart less bounding at emotion new,
And hope, once crushd, less quick to spring again.
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