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THE VISIONARY.
I Pray thee do not speak to me
As you are speaking now,
It brings the colour to my check,
The shadow to my brow.
I pray thee do not look at me,
I cannot bear that gaze;
Though downcast be my eye, it still
Too much my heart betrays.
I feel the past is written there,
The past, long since gone by—
The past, where feelings, fancies, hopes,
Alike unburied lie;
Unburied, for their restless ghosts
Still haunt the sad domain,
And, mockeries of their former selves,
Come thronging back again.
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