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[page 1, col. 1, continued:]
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| Written for the Saturday
Evening Post. |
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Ballad.
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BY EDGAR A. POE.
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The ring is on my hand,
And the wreath is on my brow;
Satins and jewels grand
Are all at my command,
And I am happy now.
He has loved me long and well,
But, when he breathed his vow,
I felt my bosom swell,
For the words rang like a knell,
And the voice seemed his who fell
In the battle down the dell,
And who is happy now.
But he spoke to re-asure me,
And he kissed my pallid brow,
While a reverie came o're me,
And to the church-yard bore me,
And I sighed to him before me,
Thinking him dead D'Elormie,
"Oh, I am happy now!"
It was spoken — it was spoken —
Quick they registered the vow;
And though my faith be broken,
And though my heart be broken
Behold the golden token
That proves me happy now.
Would God I could awaken!
For I dream, I know not how,
And my soul is sorely shaken
Lest an evil step be taken,
And the dead who is forsaken
May not be happy now. |
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