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84 Four ages I have been away! My eyes with grief are blind; With sickness and with sleeplessness, I left my own sweet voice behind! Thy name, alas! I cannot guess, Thou who beneath the hazel tree Thus with thy questions searchest me!

Know then, the poet blythe and boon, The love-sick bard, at whose command Thou flew’st an outlaw from the land To her of beauty like the noon!

Name then the lady of thy lay.

S. and E. and N. and A.

I asked the maid of golden locks, Amid the birch-robed mountain rocks, To meet thee!