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The Rival

 I so loved once, when Death came by I hid 
 Away my face, 
And all my sweetheart's tresses she undid 
 To make my hiding-place.
The dread shade passed me thus unheeding; and I turned me then To calm my love -- kiss down her shielding hand And comfort her again.
And lo! she answered not: and she did sit All fixedly, With her fair face and the sweet smile of it, In love with Death, not me.

Poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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