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And in his pleasant solitude He would forget his wayward mood, And pour his spirit forth when none Broke on his solitude, save one.

There is a light step passing by Like the distant sound of music's sigh; It is that fair and gentle child, Whose sweetness has so oft beguiled, Like sunlight on a stormy day, His almost sullenness away.

They said she was not of mortal birth, And her face was fairer than face of earth: What is the thing to liken it to? A lily just dipp'd in the summer dew—