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Where the sun loves to pause

With so fond a delay,

That the night only draws

A thin veil o'er the day;

Where simply to feel that we breathe, that we live,
Is worth the best joy that life elsewhere can give.

Which come in the night-time of sorrow and care,
And bring back the features that joy used to wear.
Long, long be my heart with such memories fill'd!
Like the vase, in which roses have once been dis-
till'd-

You may break, you may shatter the vase, if you
will,

There, with souls ever ardent and pure as the clime, But the scent of the roses will hang round it still. We should love, as they loved in the first golden

time;

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