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YOUTH'S SONG.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


65

YOUTH'S SONG.

The pale moon-crescent in the azure slept,
And odorous violets mingled with our talk;
Anon the bells from all the turrets swept
A flood of music down the perfumed walk,—
Hurrying the golden hours,—
The tremulous, golden hours,—
The wingèd, passionate hours.
Then Time began his joyous course to run,
Zoning the fragrant earth with grace supreme;
Thenceforth our heaven has held a liberal sun,
Freighting our voyage of love o'er life's clear stream,—
Leading the golden hours,—
The tremulous, golden hours,—
The fleeting, fleeting hours.