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Then fears of all too much revealing Vanish'd with a reproachful feeling.

What, coldness! when another day And would be far away, When that to-morrow's rising sun Might be the last he look'd upon!

"Come,, dear! by the moonlight We'll visit all our haunts to night. I could not lay me down to rest, For, like the feathers in my crest, My thoughts are waving to and fro. Come, , dear! I could not go Without a pilgrimage to all Of garden, nook, and waterfall,—