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Literary Gazette, 7th June, 1834, Page 401
The lonely bird that sings at night,
A few sad notes will give thee;
And there are dreams of past delight,
Whose pleasures cannot leave thee.
The poetry of all sweet thought
That memory can discover,
And words, and looks, by fancy brought,
Around thy pale buds hover.
Then sleep like an embalmed one,
Amid joy’s precious embers;
Thy spirit and my heart are gone
To what the past remembers.
L. E. L.
