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Your portrait's there in the parlor,
In a queer short-waisted gown
And tortoiseshell comb that held your hair
Like a carven, royal crown
But, oh, the Lurlei lure of the eyes
That tempt with a mock disdain,
And oh, the smile of ripe, red lips,
"Sweetheart, Belinda Jane!"

Lover and maiden are sleeping
In the years' unbroken trance,
And here in this valentine I find
The ghost of their old romance.
There's no rustle of silken garments,
No faintest sigh's refrain,
But I feel your unseen presence,
"Sweetheart, Belinda Jane."

Are you laughing there in the shadows,
You with your coquetry creed?
He loved you truly, Belinda;
'Tis written where all may read;
But the hearts of the painted roses
That never knew wind or rain.
Hold ever your untold secret,
"Sweetheart, Belinda Jane."

What was the message you sent him
On that long dead winter's day?
Did your teasing end in loving?
Did you break his heart with "nay"?

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