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to thee, that bliss farewell, With thy fair form my fancy wove; No more to meads and flowers I tell In murmuring strains my ardent love.

Yet if thy image still could float Before my fancy's raptured sight Apart from his, I still could dote On that dear form, so fair, so bright.

To thee I ne'er have breath'd my soul; My passion ne'er to thee could tell; So strong the tie, such firm control Had bound me in thy beauty's spell.