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O'er long buried flowers Passing, not in vain, Odours in soft showers Thou hast brought again. —Let the primrose greet thee, Let the violet pour Incense forth to meet thee— Wake my heart no more! No more!

From a funeral urn Bowered in leafy gloom, Ev'n thy soft return Calls not song or bloom. Leave my spirit sleeping Like that silent thing; Stir the founts of weeping There, O breeze of spring, No more!