TO
CLARA.
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WHERE
the wide spreading thorn
Diffuses its shade,
Oft, oft with my Clara
I’ve pleasingly strayed—
Or paused, while she culled,
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By
the moon’s trembling light,
The primrose, or daisy,
That slumbered in night.
And dear were the pleasures
Such minutes had given,
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To
brighten our path,
In a calm summer even. [Page
131]
But, like the soft joys
That first hallow the heart,
In love’s early hour—
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Then
haste to depart—
So hurried the moments,
That only could throw
A beam on life’s pathway,
Long shadowed by woe.
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Yet, I still must remember
The pleasures that flowed,
And the heaven of love
Which my Clara bestowed.
[Page 132]
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