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What joy to think, perchance some future day, Those looks would dwell on thee again, and greet The buds expanding, and thy new sprung leaves! Thou, Poetry, in absence wert a chain, Binding our hearts together: where so well As in thy numbers, could I pour my soul, In soothing tenderness? 'twas bliss, to make Thought visible to those of whom I thought. Now that enchantment over, thy slight bark Adventures in a wide and perilous sea; Dark are the waves around thy fragile skiff; Unskilful is the hand which pilots thee; And few have ever reach'd thy destin'd shore. I part from thee, as I should part from one Whom I may wish, not hope, to see again. Fondly, and fearfully, farewell to thee, Sweet sojourner, so long my bosom guest! Perhaps a long, perhaps a last farewell!