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Thou fairy flower! how lovely Thy blossoms seem to be! Thou art the summer’s darling, And such thou art to me: Thou bringest back old fancies, And I am like a child; Alas, alas! my childhood! Where art thou now exiled?

Art thou amid these blossoms, Lull’d with their breathings sweet; Too much of unmarked beauty Lies hidden at our feet: We hurry on, too careless Of many lovely things; ’Tis accident that often The dearest pleasure brings.

Sweet flowers! are ye from childhood, Or fairy land, or both? So fresh are still the fancies That linger round your growth. With what an eager fondness I leant your leaves above! Oh! in our life’s beginning, The heart is full of love!

We have a world within us, Unwasted and unchilled; And we long to share the gladness, With which ourselves are filled: ’Tis life’s most bitter lesson, That we must leave behind Each warm and generous impulse, That lighted once the mind.