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—Come away! under arching boughs we'll float, Making those urns each a fairy boat; We'll row them with reeds o'er the fountains free, And a tall flag leaf shall our streamer be, And we'll send out wild music so sweet and low, It shall seem from the bright flower's heart to flow, As if 'twere a breeze with a flute's low sigh, Or water-drops trained into melody. —Come away! for the midsummer sun grows strong, And the life of the lily may not be long.