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Like the vase of a perfume scatter'd,   Such would my spirit be; So mute, so void, so shatter'd,   Bereft of thee!

Leave me not, Love! or if this earth Yield not for thee a home, If the bright summer-land of thy pure birth Send thee a silvery voice that whispers—"Come!" Then, with the glory from the rose, With the sparkle from the stream, With the light thy rainbow-presence throws Over the poet's dream; With all th' Elysian hues Thy pathway that suffuse, With joy, with music, from the fading grove, Take me, too, heavenward, on thy wing, sweet Love!