Page:Songs of the Affections.pdf/117

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Oh! if the soul immortal be, Is not its love immortal too?

thou my home?—'tis where yon woods are waving, In their dark richness, to the summer air; Where yon blue stream, a thousand flower-banks laving, Leads down the hills a vein of light, —'tis there!

"Midst those green wilds how many a fount lies gleaming, Fringed with the violet, colour'd with the skies!