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I.—LIFE.
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I.—LIFE.

Life onward flows—and now as I look back,
I see, perhaps, the sweetest loves behind:
The fairest wreaths of blossoms perhaps were twined
When youthful feet were eager on the track.
Oh, for one breath of the dear balmy wind
That played across the meadows where I trod
When gold-harped king Apollo was my god,—
When first for the august green bays I pined!
Oh, for one breath now of the former air
That kissed my brows, delicious from the sea,
Soft from the meadows, from the mountains fair,
Fragrant from the divine flower-sprinkled lea,—
Oh, for one perfect kiss from lips that were
Tender, in the old tender days, for me!