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There is a face whose blushes tell
Affection's tale upon the cheek,
But pallid at our fond farewell,
Proclaims more love than words can speak.
There is a bosom all my own,
Has pillow'd oft this aching head,
A mouth which smiles on me alone,
An eye, whose tears with mine are shed.
There are two hearts whose movements thrill,
In unison so closely sweet,
That pulse to pulse responsive still
They both must heave, or cease to beat.
–– Lord Byron (1788-1824)