  Oh! cruel, cruel fate is mine, Why am I tortured with life so unkind. Cruel as the grave, it means peace for me, For there only, my sorrow, will e’er let me be. Peace or happiness, I truly know not, And gone art the sunshine that lightened my darkened spots The little birds for me do not sing so sweet And the roses have withered from the warm summer’s heat. —Mrs. Perry H. McGee |
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