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 The young moon's vestal lamp that hour Seem'd pale as that it pined for love; No marvel such a night had power, So calm below, so fair above, To wake the spirit's finest chords Till minstrel thoughts found minstrel words.

 

is the latest song of mine That ever breathes thy name, False idol of a dream-raised shrine, Thy very thought is shame,— Shame that I could my sprit bow To one so very false as thou. 