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GERALDINE.
181
And yet I am mournful—I think of our morrow,
And my heart fills with nameless and shadowy fears:
The heart has its omens, and mine are of sorrow—
I know that our future has anguish and tears.
I see the clouds pass o'er the stars, and my spirit
Grows dark as the terrors which round it are thrown:
Ah, Surrey! whatever my lot may inherit,
I care not, so suffering but reach me alone.
