O friends, I pray tonight, Keep not your kisses for my dead cold brow. The way is lonely; let me feel them now. Think gently of me; I am travel-worn, My faltering feet are pierced with many a thorn. Forgive! O hearts estranged, forgive, I plead! When ceaseless bliss is mine I shall not need The tenderness for which I long tonight.
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Belle Eugenia Smith
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