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Nor see the garland droop, and wither soon away; 
With me the fault may dwell, 
But vanisheth the spell, 
E’en while a secret well 
Is springing in my heart, whose gush I cannot 
stay; 
And its waters overflow, 
Extinguishing the glow, 
Leaving me hut woe, 
For the trust so full and free, my ardent spirit 
gave; 
And, unlike Dodona’s stream, 
It yields, alas! no beam, 
Rekindling the sweet dream, 
But darkly, stilly rolls, o’er ruined Feeling’s grave. 
For, when the flower-linked chain 
Is rudely snapped in twain, 
For me — ah, ne’er again, 
16 
