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TO F----. 


BELOVED ! amid the earnest woes That crowd around my earthly path --(Drear path, alas! where grows Not even one lonely rose) -- My soul at least a solace hath In dreams of thee, and therein knows An Eden of bland repose.

And thus thy memory is to me Like some enchanted far-off isle In some tumultuos sea -- Some ocean throbbing far and free With storms -- but where meanwhile Serenest skies continually Just o're that one bright island smile.

1845.

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