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At an Old Drawer

 Before this scarf was faded,
What hours of mirth it knew;
How gayly it paraded
From smiling eyes to view.
The days were tinged with glory, The nights too quickly sped, And life was like a story Where all the people wed.
Before this rosebud wilted, How passionately sweet The wild waltz smelled and lilted In time for flying feet; How loud the bassoons muttered, The horns grew madly shrill, And oh! the vows lips uttered That hearts could not fulfill.
Before this fan was broken, Behind its lace and pearl What whispered words were spoken, What hearts were in a whirl; What homesteads were selected In Fancy's realm of Spain, What castles were erected Without a room for pain.
When this odd glove was mated, How thrilling seemed the play; Maybe our hearts are sated-- We tire so soon to-day.
O, thrust away these treasures, They speak the dreary truth; We have outgrown the pleasures And keen delights of youth.

Poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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