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THE SKY-LARK. 2^8
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Young love is like the infant moon,
A form of light to darkness joined,
And yet with front so bright and boon,
We scarce can spy the gloom behind,
But time will chase that sorrow soon,
For love grows brighter like the moon.
GLEE.
Charming to love is morning's hour,
When from her chrystal roseat tow'r,
She sees the goddess health pursue
The skimming breeze through fields of dew
Charming the flaming hour of noon,
When the sunk linnet's fading tune
Allures him to the beechy grove;
Or when some cragg'd grotesque alcove,
Sounds in his ear its tinkling rill,
And tempts him to its moss-grown sill.
Most charm' d when on his tranced mind,
Is whisper'd in the passing wind,
The name of her whose name is bliss,
Or when he, all unseen, can kiss
The fringed bank where late she lay,
Hidden from the imperious day.

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