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First around thy couch shall sweep Odours, such as roses weep When the earliest spring rain Calls them into life again; Next upon thine ear shall float Many a low and silver note, Stolen from a dark-eyed maid When her lover's serenade, Rising as the stars grew dim, Waken'd her from thoughts of him. There shall steal o'er lip and cheek Gales, but all too light to break Thy soft rest,—such gales as hide All day orange-flowers inside, Or that, while hot noontide, dwell In the purple hyacinth bell;