WwW. L. 
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i 
In its midst a fountain sparkles, 
Se 
That, with gentle, silvery showers, 
Casts its spray of diamond dew-drops 
To refresh the grateful flowers. 
My free birds sing sweetly, deeply— 
Sing to me the livelong day; 
Of the Past—the Present—Future, 
One resounding, thrilling lay. 


Warmly nurtured is my Greenhouse— 
Warmed by fires, lit from on high; 
Flowers would perish were it colder, 
And my happy birds would die. 
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Once my opening roses circled 
Round a tree I deemed secure ; 
But no root it had, and even 
Lightest storms could not endure. 

So the roses bleeding, writhing 
Sadly lay upon the ground, 


Till the passion-vine entwined them, 
And the ivy clasped them round. 
Now, though oft their blushing petals 
To the fallen tree still turn; 
They, in friendship firm, unchanging, 
Soon forgetfulness will learn. 



SS per gel 

