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In the house was going now and comingUp and down the stairs, and doors were creakingBackwards now, now forwards,--footsteps clatter'dYet, as though it were a thing all-living,From my cherish'd hope I could not tear me.

Such love-round cheeks as she?Ah, when the eye her beauties meet,

Believe me, with great truth,Very faithfully yours,EDGAR A. BOWRING.London, April, 1853.