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Death with his cold hand, hath robb’d me of every hope,
Hath robb’d me of every hope--my loved one is gone;
Bleak was the moment, that parted our beating hearts--
That parted our beating hearts, and left me alone.
Sweet was the low voice, that wrapt me in fond delight,
That wrapt me in fond delight, as fair visions do;
Soft were the dark eyes, that languish’d in beauty bright,
That languish’d in beauty bright--how fondly and true!