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LEAVING LOVE.
If one should stay in Italy a while,
With bloom to hide the dust beneath her feet,
With birds in love with roses to beguile
Her life until its sadness grew too sweet;

If she should, slowly, see some statue there,
Divine with whiteness and with coldness, keep
A very halo in the hovering air;
If she should weep—because it could not weep;

If she should waste each early gift of grace
In watching it with rapturous despair,
Should kiss her youth out on its stony face,
And feel the greyness gathering toward her hair:

Then fancy, though it had till now seemed blind,
Blind to her little fairness, it could see
How scarred of soul, how wan and worn of mind,
How faint of form and faded, she must be;

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