O sweet flower, too quickly fading,
Like a winter sunshine day:
Poor pilgrim tir'd in the midway,
Like the earth itself half shading.
So thy picture shows to me,
But only the one half of thee.
O dear joy, too swiftly flying
From thy love's enchanted eyes:
Proud glory spread through the vast skies,
Earth of more than earth envying:
O how wondrous hadst thou been,
Had but the world thy whole life seen.

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