TO EMELINE.
would enshrine in silvern songThe charm that bore our souls along,As in the sun-flushed days of summerWe felt the pulsings of nature's throng;
When flecks of foam of flying spraySmote white the red sun's torrid ray,Or wimpling fogs toyed with the mountain,Aërial spirits of dew at play;
When hovering stars, poised in the blue,Came down and ever closer drew;Or, in the autumn air astringent,Glimmered the pearls of the...
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