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And waked at morning by the call Of music from a waterfall. But not alone in dreams like this, Breathed in the very hope of bliss, I love: my love had been the same In hushed despair, in open shame. I would have rather been a slave, In tears, in bondage, by his side, Than shared in all, if wanting him, This world had power to give beside! My heart was withered,—and my heart Had ever been the world to me; And love had been the first fond dream, Whose life was in reality. I had sprung from my solitude Like a young bird upon the wing