Domestic 8

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daunted will. The long Summer days
of convalesence were dreary [dreamy] and solemn-
like; her paths dropped sweetness -
Sitting by an open window, with a pink
rose in profuse bloom as her back-
ground, a bit of monotonous sewing
in her fingers, she gently crooned of her
past with its undulating but never
tragic experiences, till sleep would
meet my eyes, and I dreamed she was
an angel in the front row in Heaven
with pink roses on her harp - Dear Mrs.
------------- I love you to-day as then
and if Harps and Heaven are for any-
body they must be yours -