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THE TOLD SECRET.

NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED

ONLY last night - it was dark - the night

Was blinded with star-dust, the river ran cold,

I struck him . . . alone! His face was white

As the dead moon's is, - a ghastly sight!

I hid IT away where the rotten pier

O'erjuts the water black and cold.

I laugh'd outright - I had little fear:

He was dead, my foe: I made good cheer!

Only last night! He spoke no word;

He dreamt not of death alone i' the cold:

Nobody listen'd. To-day a bird

Whistles a catch that the world has heard.

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