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Oh! the cry—half joy, half sorrow—
As she flings her at his side,
“John! the sweetheart of my girlhood,
Here am I, am I, thy bride.
“Time on thee has left no traces,
Death from wear has shielded thee;
I am aged, worn, and wasted,
Oh! what life has done to me!”
Then, his smooth unfurrow’d forehead
Kiss’d that ancient wither’d crone;
And the Death which had divided
Now united them in one.
