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Rh

In vain that all things changed around, No change in my own heart was found. In sad or gay, in dark or fair, My spirit found a likeness there.

At last my bosom yearn'd to see My blooming infancy; I saw, myself unseen the while, Oh, God! it was her mother's smile! Wherefore, oh, wherefore had they flung The veil just as her mother's hung!— Another look I dared not take, Another look my heart would break! I rush'd away to the lime grove Where first I told my tale of love; And leaves and flowers breathed of spring As in our first sweet wandering.