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O sweet flower, too quickly fading, Like a winter sunshine day: Poor pilgrim tir'd in the midway, Like the earth itself half shading. So thy picture shows to me, But only the one half of thee. O dear joy, too swiftly flying From thy love's enchanted eyes: Proud glory spread through the vast skies, Earth of more than earth envying: O how wondrous hadst thou been, Had but the world thy whole life seen. |