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of you pardon to-day, Yesterday I was mad when I spoke; But the dream of our friendship was fair, And my heart seemed to die when I woke.

I forgot when the fair image grew Till a goddess's beauty it bore, That the beautiful moulding was mine, The clay was but clay as before.

I slept by a fountain one eve, And thirsting awakened to drink; But the waters I dreamt of were gone, The young grass lay dead on the brink.

Did I think that the sun of to-day Would shine out to-morrow as fair? Did I vow this sweet breeze would return. That now lifts with soft fingers my hair?