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Frederick Locker
( 1821 - 1895 )


My only Love is always near,

In country or in town:

I see her twinkling feet, I hear

The whisper of her gown.

She foots it ever fair and young,

Her locks are tied in haste,

And one is o'er her shoulder flung

And hangs below her waist.

She ran before me in the meads,

And down this world-worn track

She leads me on; but while she leads

She never gazes back.

And yet her voice is in my dreams,

To witch me more and more:

That wooing voice !    Ah me, it seems

Less near me than of yore.

Lightly I sped when hope was high

And youth beguiled the chase, ---

I follow, follow still:  but I

Shall never see her face.


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