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THY quaint old dress is fair, my love,
Thy jewels worthy of a queen,
From deepest green below, above,
There glints of brightest gold the sheen.
Thy brows are sable as the night,
Thy face is as the lily pale :
"A fantasie in black and white,"
Would'st thou be called in painter's tale.
Thy words, brimful of richest lore,
Shall dwell for ever in my heart;
Come weal or woe, by sea or shore,
Thou'lt faithful be till death us part.
Thy sisters too are trusty friends,
They smile at me from many a nook;
But still, until life's story ends,
I'll cherish thee, my faithful book.
FEZ.
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