For pinks and daisies search'd the flow'ry plain.
And listen, mother of mine.
A hundred fairies danced last night,
And the harpers they were nine.
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Feeling deeper than all thought;
Souls to souls can never teach
What unto themselves was taught.
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Spring may boast her flowery prime,
Yet the vineyard's ruby treasures
Brighten Autumn's sob'rer time.