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Ah, if I knew how thou wilt deal with me.
Who knows? who knows? They tell me I am fair,
And any beauty that I may possess
Have I not kept it for thy sake with care?

To guard a pallor that might blush for thee,
Shading the sunrays from this face of mine,
Smoothing my hands with milk from elder-flowers
Lest the rough skin should jar the silk of thine.

Ah, how I loved thee, even as a child
Watching thee ride across the village square,
The curls blown backwards from thy vivid face
Thy pennons lifted on the summer air.

How I have envied brides who passed thy gates,
And when I heard the village gossips say
Thou wert not as thy fathers; oft refused
To claim thy privilege, I turned away

So glad and yet so sad,—it well may be
They will not notice me, those eyes of thine;
Yet surely love will find some soft appeal
To draw their gaze to me, thy lips to mine.

My cousin loves me; in his kindly eyes
Lies the clear promise of a calm content.
I, wedding him, ensure his happiness
As thou ensurest mine, shouldst thou consent.

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