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MARY LOVES THE FLOWERS |
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Let no elfin finger
Blur from memory's sand; Her name-"—ah! let it linger
While my air-built castles stand. To feel her soft'caressing,
Her ev'ry smile to see, To bear her ardent blessing |
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Breathed in lute-toned melody; To die beneath her tender care,
Were life, were life to me. Mary loves the flowers!
Ah! how happy they! E'en their darkest hours,
To me were bright, bright summer day. |
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