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are not miss'd, fair flowers, that late were spreading The summer's glow by fount and breezy grot; There falls the dew, its fairy favours shedding, The leaves dance on, the young birds miss you not.

Still plays the sparkle o'er the rippling water, O lily! whence thy cup of pearl is gone; The bright wave mourns not for its loveliest daughter, There is no sorrow in the wind's low tone.