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a lowland cottage,
 * With climbing roses gay,

I stood one summer's eve, to watch
 * Two children at their play.

All round the garden walks they ran,
 * Filling the air with glee,

Till they were tired, and sate them down
 * Beneath an old oak tree.

They were silent for a little space,
 * And then the boy began:—

"I wonder, sister dear, if I
 * Shall ever be a man.

"I almost think I never shall,
 * For often, in my sleep,

I dream that I am dying—
 * —Nay, sister, do not weep!

"It is a joyful thing to die;
 * For, though this world is fair,

I see a lovelier in my dreams,
 * And I fancy I am there.