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Continental Monthly, Vol. II. July, 1862. No. 1. by Various
page 297 of 312 (95%)

'Tis a morning hour, but the work is done;
The house so peacefully bright within,
And the wild-wood leaves on the mantel-shelf
Tell how busy her feet have been.

She sits by the window and watches a cloud
Fading away in the hazy sky;
And 'Like that cloud,' she says in heart,
'When summer is over, I too shall die.'

The door-yard gate swings to with a clang,
She must not sadden her father so;
She springs to her feet with a merrier air,
And pinches her face to make it glow.

But ah! no need; for a ruddier red
Than pinches can bring floods brow and cheek;
She stands transfixed by a mighty joy;
For millions of worlds she can not speak.

Frank Wilson gathers her close to his heart,
With brightening glance, he reads that glow,
And draws from the wells of her joy-lit eyes
The secret he long has yearned to know.

'Frank Wilson! living and strong and well;
Were you not killed by the rebels? say!'
'Thank God! I was not. 'Twas another man--
There were two Frank Wilsons in Company K.'
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