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12
IV.
As steals the dew along the flower,
So stole thy smile on me;
I cannot tell the day, nor hour
I first loved thee!
But now in every scene and clime,
In change of grief or glee,
I only measure from the time
I first loved thee!
I only think,—when fast and fair
My good ship cuts the sea,—
I leave the lovely island where
I first loved thee!
The wide world has one only spot
Where I would wish to be;
Where, all the rest of life forgot,
I first loved thee!
