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For though her glance still shines as bright,
As in her childish years,
Its wildness and its lustre, now,
Are softened down by tears:—
As in her childish years,
Its wildness and its lustre, now,
Are softened down by tears:—
Tears, that steal not from hidden springs
Or sorrow and regret,
For none but lovely feelings
In her gentle breast have met,
For every tear, that gems her eye,
From her young bosom flows,
Like dew-drops from a golden star,
Or perfume from a rose.
Or sorrow and regret,
For none but lovely feelings
In her gentle breast have met,
For every tear, that gems her eye,
From her young bosom flows,
Like dew-drops from a golden star,
Or perfume from a rose.
For e'en in life's delicious spring,
We oft have memories,
That throw around our sunny hearts
A transient cloud of sighs;
For a wondrous change within the heart
At that sweet time is wrought,
When on the heart is softly laid
A spell of deeper thought.
We oft have memories,
That throw around our sunny hearts
A transient cloud of sighs;
For a wondrous change within the heart
At that sweet time is wrought,
When on the heart is softly laid
A spell of deeper thought.
And she has reached that lovely time,
That sweet poetic age,
When to the eye each floweret's leaf
Seems like a glowing page;
For a beauty and a mystery,
About the heart are thrown,
That sweet poetic age,
When to the eye each floweret's leaf
Seems like a glowing page;
For a beauty and a mystery,
About the heart are thrown,