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  We sat in the room
  And praised her whom
We saw in the portico-shade outside:
  She could not hear
  What was said of her,
But smiled, for its purport we did not hide.
  Then in was brought
  That message, fraught
With evil fortune for her out there,
  Whom we loved that day
  More than any could say,
And would fain have fenced from a waft of care.
  And the question pressed
  Like lead on each breast,
Should we cloak the tidings, or call her and tell?
  It was too intense
  A choice for our sense,
As we pondered and watched her we loved so well.
  Yea, spirit failed us
  At what assailed us;
How long, while seeing what soon must come,
  Should we counterfeit
  No knowledge of it,
And stay the stroke that would blanch and numb?
  And thus, before
  For evermore
Joy left her, we practised to beguile
  Her innocence when
  She now and again
Looked in, and smiled us another smile.