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And break my light and gladsome spell, 
From things so passing dear? 
From Lover’s lips? and Beauty’s eyes? 
And hearts of frolic childhood? 
The gentle breeze ? The starry skies ? 
Calm sea? and gay, green wildwood? 
Oh, no! oh, no! it must not be, 
Autumn! I may not go with thee.’ 
AUTUMN. 
‘ Nay, dearest, ’t is but for a time 
Thou ’It leave these cherished things, 
While Winter, from his northern clime, 
O’er earth his horrors flings; 
For come he must, and come he will; 
Then, let us haste away; 
Thou shalt return, sweet Summer, still, 
And still assert thy sway.’ 
SUMMEK. 
1 But must I leave, so fresh and bright, 
All that has yielded me delight? 
