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summer comes, then you are near to me, I feel your phantom presence on my heart. In every wind the dead year speaks again, And every scene springs up to take its part.

Twas such a day, as sweet a wind arose. To kiss with perfumed lips your blown hair; With brow perplexed and that odd smile you had, I wondered what you thought of, standing there.

Twas here, I stooped to pluck a drooping flower, You prayed so foolishly that you might keep; And here you turned a moment's space so cold, I only laughed for fear that I should weep.

O phantom love! that haunts me restlessly. That from my passionate hands will ever fly, Fate owes me this, I will pursue and hold. Or, finding you but shadow, let me die.