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a web of many textures

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My brow is seamed o'er with the iron of years,
And the snow-threads are gleaming the dark locks among,
My eyes have grown dim in the shadow of tears,
And the flowers of my soul have died as they sprung;
But Memory bears to me on its broad wings
Bright images true of my earliest life,
And there, 'mid the fairest of all that she brings,
Is the little low room where I courted my wife.


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That low humble room seemed a palace of light,
As Love held his torch and illumined the scene,
With glory of state and profusion bedight,
Where I was a monarch — my darling a queen;
Ourselves were our subjects, pledged loyal to each,
And which should love best was our heartiest strife;
What tales could it tell, if possessing a speech,
That little low room where I courted my wife!
Warm vows has it heard — the warmest e'er spoke —
Where lips have met lips in holy embrace,
Where feelings that never to utterance woke
It saw oft revealed in a duplicate face!
The sweet hours hastened — how quickly they flew! —
With fervor, devotion, and ecstasy rife;
Our hearts throbbed the hours — but how I ne'er knew —
In the little low room where I courted my wife.
The romance of youth lent its rapturous zest,
And fairy-land knew no delight like our own;
Our words were but few, yet they were the best, —
A dialect sweet for ourselves all alone;
So anxious to hear what the other might say,
We scarcely could utter a word, for our life;
Thus the hours unheeded passed fleetly away
In the little low room where I courted my wife.
Long years have since passed o'er my darling and me,
And the roses have faded away from her cheek,
But the merciless seasons, as onward they flee,
Leave love still undimmed in her bosom so meek;
That love is the light to my faltering feet,
My comfort in moments with sorrowing rife,
My blessing in joy, as with joy 't was replete
In the little low room where I courted my wife.