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THE BUDDING HOPES.
 
 
 
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40

THE BUDDING HOPES.

The budding hopes which hourly spring,
While Fancy's bower is young and green,
Too often perish ere they fling
Their viewless odours round the scene;
But, oh! there's one, which, planted here,
The heart's red current flows to cherish,
And should that blossom disappear,
The soil it springs from too must perish.