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Lamartine, Alphonse de, 1790-1869

"Raphael Pages of the Book of Life at Twenty"

I felt sorrowful,
and would often look back towards that point of the horizon where she
dwelt, and walk slowly and heavily home. Oh, how I envied the
snow-laden wings of the crows that flew northward through the mist!
What a pang I felt as I saw the carriages rolling towards Paris! How
many of my useless days of youth would I not have given to be in the
place of one of those listless old men who glanced unconcernedly
through their carriage windows at the solitary youth by the wayside,
whose steps travelled in the contrary direction to his heart. Oh, how
interminably long did the short days of December and January appear!
There was one bright hour for me, among all my hours,--it was when I
heard from my room the step, the voice, and the rattle of the postman,
who was distributing the letters in the neighborhood. As soon as I
heard him I opened my window; I saw him coming up the street, with his
hands full of letters, which he distributed to all the maid-servants,
and waited at each door till he received the postage.


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