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THE BROKEN PENCIL. 157
THE BROKEN PENCIL.
Emma gave me, when we parted, This small gilded pencil here ;
She was cheerful and light-hearted, And we thought not of a tear.
Now I 'm weeping o'er the token Of her friendship and her love;
For its glitt'ring case is broken, Like the heart I did not prove.
Worthless thing! thou hast deceived me, Proved my confidence in vain—
Like the friend I loved so dearly, But may never trust again.
Tender friends—how high we prize them, How we weep when they are dead!
But to see the world despise them, Is by far more darkly dread.
And to feel the spell is broken
Which has bound them to our heart—
'Tis a feeling none have spoken, When they saw the loved depart.
Choice memento! fittest emblem Of the heart I thought so pure!
Emblematic of the friendship
Which I thought must long endure.