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A DEAD LETTER.
"A cæur blessé-l'ombre et le silence."
H. DE BALZAC.
It came out feebly scented
That dust and days had lent it.
An old, old letter,-folded still !
To read with due composure, I sought the sun-lit window-sill,
Above the gray enclosure,
That glimmering in the sultry haze,
Faint-flowered, dimly shaded, Slumbered like Goldsmith's Madam Blaize,
Bedizened and brocaded.
A queer old place! You'd surely say
Some tea-board garden-maker
To please some florist Quaker,