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 Ah! how often beneath this oak, returning from labor, Thou hast lain down to rest, and to dream of me in thy slumbers. When shall these eyes behold, these arms be folded about thee?” Loud and sudden and near the note of a whippoorwill sounded Like a flute in the woods; and anon, through the neighbouring thickets, Farther and farther away it floated and dropped into silence. “Patience!” whispered the oaks from oracular caverns of darkness; And, from the moonlit meadow, a sigh responded, “To-morrow!”

Bright rose the sun next day; and all the flowers of the garden