An Answer.

Poem By Alfred Castner King

When passing years have streaked with frost
These tresses now as jet,
When life's meridian is crossed
And beauty's sun has set,
When youth's last fleeting charm is lost,
Wilt thou be constant yet,
Nor time thy sentiment exhaust
And cause thee to forget?
If so-
My answer, I confess,
Shall be a calm, decided 'Yes';
But otherwise a 'No'!

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Which led me through a wooded glen,
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Beneath a tree, I found a seat.

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Clink! Clink! Clink!
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At the sound of the whistle so shrill and clear,
He must leave the wife and the children dear,
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The First Storm.

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Shall love as the bridal wreath, wither and die?
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And the waves of adversity's tempest roll high,
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