Her artless speech, and merry laugh,
Her eye so mild and clear,
Is fresher in my mind, by half,
Than scenes the latest near.
No hart that scales the mountain rife,
Nor bird that swims the sky,
Was more aglow with buoyant life,
Than was my love and I.
We wished the day might never end,
The brook ne'er find the sea;
The valley hold its beauteous trend
A path for her and me.
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