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They tell me that my soul can throw A glory o'er the earth; From thee, from thee, is caught that golden glow! Shed by thy gentle eyes It gives to flower and skies, A bright new birth!

Thence gleams the path of morning, Over the kindling hills, a sunny zone! Thence to its heart of hearts, the rose is burning With lustre not its own! Thence every wood-recess Is filled with loveliness, Each bower, to ring-doves and dim violets known.

I see all beauty by the ray That streameth from thy smile; Oh! bear it, bear it not away! Can that sweet light beguile?