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Rh When once from the top the bright bubbles have sunk, Oh! then let it pass from my lip! That love may be blissful, whose roses can bind For ever the heart to its shrine; But as well you might chain the light wings of the wind, As throw fetters for long over mine. Thus gaily I'll rove, o'er the blossoms of love, Just catching their sweets as I fly; As the zephyr, that transiently bends from above A fresh flower for every sigh.