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1 What may the woman labour to confess? 2 There is about her mouth a nervous twitch. 3 'Tis something to be told, or hidden:--which? 4 I get a glimpse of hell in this mild guess. 5 She has desires of touch, as if to feel 6 That all the household things are things she knew. 7 She stops before the glass. What sight in view? 8 A face that seems the latest to reveal! 9 For she turns from it hastily, and tossed 10 Irresolute, steals shadow-like to where 11 I stand; and wavering pale before me there, 12 Her tears fall still as oak-leaves after frost. 13 She will not speak. I will not ask. We are 14 League-sundered by the silent gulf between. 15 Yon burly lovers on the village green, 16 Yours is a lower, and a happier star!
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