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Rh

The mysteries their glories hide Must be but of life's brightest side; It cannot be that Fate would write Her dark decrees in lines of light. And mused upon the hour When, comrade of the star and flower, He watch'd beside his lady's bower; He number'd every hope and dream, Like blooms that threw upon life's stream Colours of beauty, and then thought On knowledge, all too dearly bought; Feelings lit up in waste to burn, Hopes that seem but shadows fair, All that the heart so soon must learn, All that it finds so hard to bear.