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104
poems.
Pale Memory brings her gifts to me
From out of the gloomy past;
But sighing, I turn to the present again,
And pray for her pleasures to last.

Sweet Memory comes with tear-stained eye,
And parts my hair of brown,
Asks me to choose, in a voice so low,
Between her and the future's frown.

I reach forth my hand to Memory;
Sad though her treasures may be,
Yet sweeter by far is her voice so low,
Than the voice of the future to me.

Still I sit and dream o'er the sad, sad scene
Loved Memory brings to me,
With chastened heart and tear-dimmed eye,
From her watch-tower over the sea.