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5

Why deck each future scene with op'ning flow'rs,
Why whisper to my soul I shall be blest?
Why gild with airy bliss the passing hours,
And soothe into serenity my breast?

Oh tell me why thou bind'st thy lovely brow
With rosy wreaths, and lead'st me by the hand
Through flow'ry paths, and o'er my senses throw
A sweet enchantment with thy magic wand?

Too well I know why thus thou smil'st on me,
Too well I know it is but to deceive;
For I, alas! too oft have trusted thee,
And, though betray'd, again I did believe.

Too well I know thy soft bewitching wiles,
Too oft have heard thee sing thy gipsy lay;