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moon is descending,

My spirit is tending

To thee, my beloved,

And only to thee!

her returning,

And fearing and mourning,

That never—O! never,

Her youth shall she see.

moon is departed;

I fly, eager-hearted,

That no one may ravish

My maiden from me.

doves! that are plighted—

Ye clouds! by heaven lighted,

Watch over my maiden,

My advocates be!