The stream with languid murmur creeps, In Lumin's flowery vale: Beneath the dew the Lily weeps Slow-waving to the gale. 'Cease, restless gale! 'it seems to say, 'Nor wake me with thy sighing! The honours of my vernal day On rapid wing are flying. Tomorrow shall the Traveller come Who late beheld me blooming: His searching eye shall vainly roam The dreary vale of Lumin.' With eager gaze and wetted cheek My wonted haunts along, Thus, faithful Maiden! thou shalt seek The Youth of simplest song. But I along the breeze shall roll The voice of feeble power; And dwell, the Moon-beam of thy soul, In Slumber's nightly hour.
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