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My boy's proud eye is on me, and the things Which rush, in stormy darkness, through my soul, Shrink from his glance. I cannot answer here.

Come forth. We'll commune elsewhere.

Wilt thou go ? Oh! let me follow thee!

Mine own fair child! —Now that thine eyes have pour'd once more on mine The light of their young smile, and thy sweet voice Hath sent its gentle music through my soul, And I have felt the twining of thine arms— —How shall I leave thee?

Leave him, as 'twere but For a brief slumber, to behold his face At morning, with the sun's.

Thou hast no look For me, my mother!