Passion Flowers (Watson)/The Revealer

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The Revealer.
How fair she looks, with that sweet calm Upon her brow; upon her faceThe look of peace it has not known Before. There is a wondrous graceNew-born to her. She lived a lifeOf constant, unimportant strifeIn homely things, no hero deeds Filled up its span. Is she the same?How fair she was we did not know, 'Till Death, the greater Revealer, came.
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