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I ask thee, with beseeching eyes,
For patient tenderness,
When tears thou canst not comprehend
Nor all my power repress,

Fall from the eyes I try to raise
Submissively to thine;
Nor think because the rain-drops fall
I uselessly repine.

Our woman-hearts are finely strung,
Vibrating with a breath,
And she is saddest who must smile
O'er bleeding wounds beneath.

A careless word, a hasty line,
Strikes like a barbèd dart;
Deal very gently, you who win,
With woman's loving heart.

I place my hand within thy own,
Thro' love, confidingly,
Content to tread thro' any path
So that it be with thee.

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