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gleaned in the old purchase, from fields often reaped
  
  
  
  
  

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SONNET—PRIMO.
TO AN ABSENT WIFE.

I.
O come, love!
Our home is very sad!
Oh! do not stay
So long away,
But haste to make us glad
Once more, love!
II.
O come, love!
Our brood requires thy wing!
They climb my seat,
And there repeat
Thy name—I bid them sing
Thy song, love!
III.
O come, love!
Our food is tasteless now;

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It needs thy care
To dress our fare,
And drive from low'ring brow
The clouds, love!
IV.
O come, love!
Our flow'rs bloom not so gay!
I watch and train,
But all in vain—
They smell, nor look to-day
So sweet, love!
V.
O come, love!
Our music all is flown!
Sad is the flute
Without thy lute;
I cannot bear alone
To play, love!
VI.
O come, love!
Our babes within my breast
Close tearful eyes,
And with their sighs
For thee, prevent my rest
At night, love!
VII.
O come, love!
Our home is very drear,
Till thy lov'd face
In every place
Beam smiles, and there we hear
Thy voice, love!