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 Wreathed in her shadowy tresses shall

The roses blissful burn;

Wan lilies at her feet shall lie,

And wind-flowers on her bosom sigh.

Here, from this rough and lowly bed,

The little celandine

Shall lift her sunny glances to

The balmy eglantine;

And flags shall flaunt by yonder lake,

And fair Narcissus there awake."

I know the Summer fell asleep

Long weary months ago;

But ah! all is not lost, poor heart,

That's laid beneath the snow;

There wait, grown cold to care and strife,

Things costliest, dying into life:

All changes, but Life ceases not

With the suspended breath;

There is no bourne to Being, and

No permanence in Death;

Time flows to an eternal sea,

Space widens to Infinity!