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By T. A. Daly

I love thee, dear, for what thou art,

Nor would I wish thee otherwise,

For when thy lashes lift apart

I read, deep-mirrored in thine eyes,

The glory of a modest heart.

Wert thou as fair as thou art good,

It were not given to any man,

With daring eyes of flesh and blood,

To look thee in the face and scan

The splendor of thy womanhood.