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My mantle no longer is green, I think of my beauty with pain,And the days when another was queen.
My arms are withered and thin,My hair once golden is grey; ’Tis winter–my reign doth begin–Youth’s summer has faded away.
My mantle no longer is green, I think of my beauty with pain,And the days when another was queen.
My arms are withered and thin,My hair once golden is grey; ’Tis winter–my reign doth begin–Youth’s summer has faded away.