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34  In vain to groves or shades I fly, This inward flame will never die!

, my love, this shade to seek,
 * The spreading tree is passing fair,

Like clust'ring curls on Beauty's cheek,
 * See it waves its wanton hair.

The streamlet murm'ring at our feet Rolls its music through the grove; 'Tis a scene for lovers meet,
 * Where each object whispers love.

The tree, the stream, the silent hour,
 * All persuasive, seem to say,