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Deaf and DumbEdit

Her face was sweetly serious; yet a smile
Was cradled in the dimple of her cheek,
As if it waited but the frequent call,
To spring to the red lip. I spoke to her,
And listen'd for the music-breathing tones
Of childhood's laughing voice—she answer'd not,
Nor raised the fringes of her deep blue eyes;—
And then they told me that the gushing fount
Of all her young affections was seal'd up.—
That young bright lip was voiceless; and the heart
Sprang not in blessedness to the deep tones
Of thrilling tenderness—the soul was shut—
And all the spirit's wild imaginings
Thrown back in darkness—like the flowers that spring
Beneath the bosom of the winter's snow.