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To part awhile from that best light, Those eyes which fixed his every look. Just press again his native shore, And then he would that shore resign For her dear sake, who was to him His household-god!—his spirit's shrine! He came not! Then the heart's decay Wasted her silently away:— A sweet fount, which the mid-day sun Has all too hotly looked upon! It is most sad to watch the fall Of autumn leaves!—but worst of all It is to watch the flower of spring Faded in its fresh blossoming!