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Caroline and Cecil Burleigh letters, undated

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The bright rose when faded flings forth o'er its tomb Its velvet leaves laded With silent perfume: Thus round me will hover In grief or in glee Till life's dream be over, Sweet memories of thee

As a sweet lute, that lingers In silence alone, Unswept by light fingers Scarce murmurs a tone, My young heart resembled That lute light and free, Till o'er its chords trembled Sweet memories of thee.