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2 A wreath of orange blossoms
When next we met, she wore; Th' expression of her features
Was more thoughtful than before; And standing by her side was one,
Who strove, and not in vain, To soothe her, leaving that dear home,
She ne'er might view again. I saw her but a moment,
Yet methinks I see her now, With the wreath of orange blossoms,
Upon her snowy brow.
3 And once again to see that brow,
No bridal wreath is there, The widow's sombre cap conceals
Her once luxuriant hair; She weeps in silent solitude,
And there is no one near To press her hand within his own.
And wipe away a tear; I see her broken hearted!
Yet methinks I see her now, In the pride of youth and beauty,
With a garland on her brow.