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TO LADY BEAUMONT

          LADY! the songs of Spring were in the grove
          While I was shaping beds for winter flowers;
          While I was planting green unfading bowers,
          And shrubs--to hang upon the warm alcove,
          And sheltering wall; and still, as Fancy wove
          The dream, to time and nature's blended powers
          I gave this paradise for winter hours,
          A labyrinth, Lady! which your feet shall rove.
          Yes! when the sun of life more feebly shines,
          Becoming thoughts, I trust, of solemn gloom                 10
          Or of high gladness you shall hither bring;
          And these perennial bowers and murmuring pines
          Be gracious as the music and the bloom
          And all the mighty ravishment of spring.
                                                              1807.


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